


Something In The Water

by SpartanGuard



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Shapeshifting, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, merman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-06-18 23:11:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 54,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15496857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpartanGuard/pseuds/SpartanGuard
Summary: Emma is sent to investigate a supposed sea monster appearance in her hometown. Thankfully, her family there knows her secret: that at night, she transforms into a swan. And she knows that whoever the universe thinks her soulmate is, as dictated by the tattoo on her side, won't be there. Though maybe she was wrong to assume that. And when did a merman start hanging out in the ocean near Storybrooke?





	1. Chapter 1

When it came to belief systems, Emma Nolan wasn't what most people would call normal. (Actually, in most regards, she wasn't.)

She didn't place much stock in things like having luck or wishing on stars. Neither had ever really been on her side.

She hadn't quite made up her mind on God (or gods, or goddesses, or whatever). She took care of herself just fine.

The supernatural, though—vampires, zombies, magic, et cetera? There wasn’t much choice when it came to her belief in that, given the way her life had goneand the people she tended to hang out with—even if society as a whole still thought it was all fiction.

But the one thing that everyone believed in—and that Emma remained skeptical on, despite all the proof she'd seen—was soulmates. The idea of a predestined love dictated by some higher being before you were born and only verified by a random, tattoo-like birthmark seemed forced at best and unreliable at worst. It's not like the marks spelled it out—there was plenty of room for interpretation of the symbolism of each soulmark, which also meant plenty of room to have a heart broken.

She had trusted in them, once upon a time, when she met a guy named Neal who’d spent a great deal of his childhood on a ship. The mark splashed across her ribcage made sense with that, and his—of what looked like a feather on his bicep—seemed appropriate for someone like her, and with a secret like hers.

But then he found out what she was hiding, and things got awkward. And then he met Tamara and the feather turned out to be a palm leaf (apparently, that’s what that name means or something). And then things were said—tame things like, “it’s not you, it’s me and my destiny and blah-blah,” and hurtful things like “I couldn’t love someone like you anyways. Who could?”

Which meant Emma was the one left with the broken heart.

So what she’d once thought was a curse actually helped keep her heart safe, and since not everyone had a soulmark, it was easy to pretend she didn’t either.

And like he said, who could love someone like her, anyways?

* * *

Actually, she lied; there was one more thing she didn’t believe in, as presented to her by her boss one quiet Thursday afternoon.

“A sea monster? You can’t be serious, Regina.”

“Hey, I didn’t come up with it. I’m just the one who took the call.”

“Well, did you do a sanity check on the caller?”

“I didn’t have to; I know she’s insane. It’s Cruella Feinberg.”

“As in Crazy Cruella from back home? The one obsessed with dogs?” Emma and Regina both hailed from the tiny Maine town of Storybrooke—the definition of quaint. It was really no wonder they’d both escaped to Boston as soon as they could.

“The very one. And while she may have lost touch with reality, her money certainly has not.”

Emma sighed and leaned back in her desk chair. “How much?”

From where she was perched on the corner of Emma’s desk in the office of their bail bonds-slash-private investigation firm, Regina slid a folded up sheet of paper to her. Emma quirked an eyebrow with curiosity; Regina wasn’t typically one to keep things on the down-low like this, unless it was an exceptionally large payout. And this did not seem like the kind of case with one of those; usually, the people who hired them for this kind of situation were broke and/or not mentally sound, so they just played Ghostbuster—convinced the banshee or whatever it was to quit being weird, and charged the client only half of the original amount.  

Emma picked up the slip and opened it. Boy, was she wrong this time. “Holy shit!” She exclaimed at the almost-six-figure sum. “This can’t possibly be real.”

“It is; I made her put up half up front to make sure she wasn’t joking. She did it without batting a heavily lined eye.”

Emma checked her desk calendar—was it April Fools or something? “What’s the catch here? This is too good to be true.”

“No catch. Unless me forcing you to take some paid time off counts.”

She scoffed. “This hardly seems like something to use my vacation time on.”

“It’s not. But it’s a two-week assignment in Storybrooke, and I’m not expecting this to take much effort on your end. Actually, I think it will end up being kind of perfect for you. Plus: you deserve it, Emma.”

She crossed her arms and leaned back in her desk chair, huffing; there was a reason she threw herself into work. It left less time for thinking, or being social, or any of those other things that tended to put Emma outside her comfort zone or onto things she’d rather not focus on.

It had been a while since she’d been home, though, and it might be nice to see her brother and sister-in-law...but it also seemed like she was taking advantage of the situation. “Are you sure, Regina? I know you’ve been busy with the Gold case; don’t you want me to stay and help with that?”

For the past several months, Regina had been investigating the disappearances of various supernatural beings—occasionally, they did get hired on legit cases from within their hidden community—with the most recent being an acquaintance of theirs, Tinkerbell, a fairy. A surprising number of her kind had gone missing, along with a werebear named Merida, a couple vampires, and a jeweler with a Midas-like touch. They had yet to find any solid leads, but all of the cases seemed to have a tie to the mysterious Mr. Gold. Emma had never met him herself, but his reputation alone had her worried for Regina’s safety whenever they met; there was no telling when a witch as gifted with magic as Regina was would be next.

(Having a boss that was also a member of the more mythical side of society—and aware of any potential limitations that might put on one’s available working hours—was certainly a perk to this job on its own, odd cases like the one currently in front of her notwithstanding.)

“I’ve got no leads right now, so there’s not much to help with,” Regina answered with a shrug. “Seriously, go spend some time with your family; have a girls night or two with Ruby; air out your feathers a bit.”

Emma gave a hard side-eye at that last comment—Regina could never resist a good bird reference around her—but she was out of arguments against taking the assignment.

She chewed on her bottom lip a bit before saying, “Promise you’ll call me if you need me back here?”

“Promise,” Regina answered, going so far as to draw an x over her heart with her finger. For Regina, that meant business.

“Then I guess I’m off to Storybrooke.”

* * *

After a quick call to her sister-in-law Snow, a fleeting trip to her apartment for some clothes and necessities hastily shoved in a threadbare duffel bag, and a stop at the gas station to fill up the tank of her 1972 yellow VW Bug, Emma was off on the 5-ish-hour drive up the coast. It wasn’t quite tourist season yet, but the snow had melted, so she opted for the slower route that kept her closer to the ocean, enjoying the panoramic views of the Atlantic as she drove.

The sign by the side of the road informing drivers that they were “Now Entering Storybrooke” eventually greeted her warmly as it had so many times before, crisp white on kelly green.

Before heading into town, she detoured down a dirt road to Cruella’s place. The Feinberg mansion was certainly more ostentatious than any other house on the road, towering over the smaller coastal cottages, but wasn’t the ridiculous display of wealth Emma had expected—it was more like an oversized bungalow made of light-colored brick.

Dogs started barking as soon as she rang the doorbell, and a shrill voice called at them to “shut it!” before the door swung open. Cruella looked much the same as she did in Emma’s memory, just with a bit more Botox: dramatic two-toned hair, a zealous amount of dark eyeshadow, and clothes just a touch too revealing.

“Oh, Emma darling, thank you so much for coming! I was thrilled when Regina told me you’d taken the case; none of those city types would ever believe me!” Cruella shouted, pulling Emma into a tight hug despite the fact that they’d hardly ever exchanged more than a few words (and that Emma had totally TP’d her house once with Ruby, but they had never been caught).

“Glad to...help…” Emma stammered, stunned at the contact. She had to take a deep breath once Cruella released her, before continuing, “So, can you tell me anything about what you’ve been seeing?”

“Oh, yes, yes—right this way!” The eccentric older woman turned on a dime and led Emma through her house, past the large painting of her now-dead husband (whose death had only been mildly suspicious), through the kitchen, and out to the massive deck that overlooked a semi-secluded cove.

“I see it almost every night when I’m having a nightcap, but only at night, so I think it’s nocturnal,” Cruella started explaining, gesturing dramatically toward the water. “It seems to be dark-colored, but it’s so hard to tell when there’s only a bit of moonlight.”

Emma wondered how strong those nightcaps were mixed, but continued on with a few more questions: how big was it (“Hmm, bigger than a dolphin, but smaller than a whale—but it has a tail like both of them.”), how long had she been seeing it (“A few months, give or take”), and why she’d hired them to investigate (“Well, I need to know what it is so I can be a hospitable host should it ever come ashore! I’m sure my friends would love to meet it!”).

None of it did anything to convince Emma that Cruella wasn’t still a few olives short of a martini, but she assured the widow that she’d get right on it.

“Let me know if I can help at all, and my property is certainly available to your use. I’m always open to some evening company,” Cruella added as Emma headed out.

“I think I’ll be okay, but thanks,” she answered, kind of quickly. “I’ll be in touch.”

She endured one more too-tight hug before hopping back in her car and starting the drive into town. Something told her it was all just the gin-fueled hallucination of a lonely old lady, but Regina was right—this case would probably work out perfectly for her, whether she found anything or not. She already spent most of her nights on the water; might was well get paid for it.

She’d get back to that later, though; now, it was time to see if the town rumor mill still worked like it used to—or at least to see how many people Snow had told of her arrival. Her old bedroom was already waiting for her, based on the last text she received, but it pretty much always was.

First things first, though: food. She easily navigated the all-too-familiar backroads and side streets that led to the center of town, one of the tiniest and most stereotypical little seaside villages known to man. Finding the diner was second nature, and her Bug looked right at home parked in front of it, almost like she’d never left. She actually recognized most of the cars nearby, but especially the two she’d parked in between; she smirked at knowing what—or rather, who—was likely waiting for her inside.

The same old bell rang against the door as she pulled it open, but was quickly drowned out by a high-pitched yelp—the only warning Emma had before being engulfed in another massive hug, but she was expecting this one. Still, she hadn’t quite braced herself enough.

“Ah, Emma! It’s really you; you’re HERE!” her best friend, Ruby Lucas, was shouting in her ear while proceeding to squeeze the life out of her.

“Let her breathe, Ruby!” a gruff voice barked from behind the counter. Despite the asphyxiation, Emma smiled at how little things ever changed.

“Sorry, sorry!” Ruby apologized as she let go; she always forgot her own strength, and now that Emma was free, she could see Granny behind them, hands on her hips and shaking her head at her granddaughter’s energy. “You know how I get around the full moon,” Ruby added quietly.

“It’s fine,” Emma assured her, even though her voice was slightly strained. Despite her friend’s lithe form, few would guess that both she and her grandmother were members of the local pack of apex predators: werewolves.

(To say Emma had grown up around the supernatural was an understatement. Maybe that was why the two of them got on so well, even if they probably shouldn’t have.)

“But once that’s past, we HAVE to have a girls’ night, okay?” she continued, gushing and taking Emma’s hands in hers. “Oh, I’m just so glad you’re here!”

“Ruby, I’m not paying ya to block the door from the paying customers!” Granny shouted before Emma could reply.

“Granny, we both know you won’t let me pay,” Emma threw back, teasing.

“Well, maybe this is the day I do!” The old lady was known for her fierce temper and penchant for orneriness; but just like any she-wolf, she was also fiercely protective of those in her pack, both the ones who actually were and the ones she’d decided were.

Emma and Ruby both just rolled their eyes, still holding hands in the entryway, when she heard the clearing of a familiar voice.

“Ruby, are you trying to hog my sister?” David, ever the big brother, was standing there with his arms crossed, trying to give a stern look that they all knew was forced.

“Yup,” Ruby threw back without missing a beat. “I’m taking her home and locking her in my house, so she’ll be all mine!”

“That’s creepy, Rubes,” Emma protested, but David spoke over her.

“Oh? And what would your new girlfriend say about that?”

Emma’s jaw dropped and Ruby looked ironically sheepish. “Ruby! You didn’t tell me!” Emma scolded, lightly shoving her friend’s shoulder.

“I was getting there…” she answered. “It’s not the sort of thing you say over text!”

Emma was going to challenge that, but Granny cut them all off. “Ruby! Let that poor girl sit down and make her some food!”

“I’ll tell you later,” she said quickly, then dashed to the kitchen in her impractical red high heels.

“Aha, my plan worked; I have you all to myself!” David proclaimed, tugging Emma into a headlock.

“Seriously?” Emma complained, though it was muffled by her brother’s ridiculously muscled arm, covered as always in plaid flannel (today, it was blue; she was pretty sure he owned the full spectrum). “Aren’t we too old for this?”

“Never!” he answered, and started tugging her farther into the diner. “Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“You’re gonna have to let go of me, you know.”

“Nah.”

She could at least tell that they were near the end of the counter, where she and David almost always sat. She still couldn’t see a damn thing and the way David was pulling her was starting to put a strain in her side, but he didn’t seem to care.

“Emma, meet Killian; he’s new in town. Killian, this is my sister, Emma.”

Blindly, Emma held out her hand, hoping the yet-to-be-seen stranger would take it. “Nice to meet you!” she called out from the confines of her brother’s grip.

Moments later, warm, rough fingers lightly gripped hers, followed by the sound of a sinfully accented voice. “The pleasure is all mine, milady.” And then she felt soft lips on the back of her hand.

Holy crap, who was this guy? Did David tear him out of a Jane Austen novel or something? Granted, that wasn’t a power she was aware of anyone wielding, let alone her brother, but damn.

(Another question would be, “why do you even care about a guy you haven’t even seen?”, but Emma was really too stunned by their thus-far incredibly brief interaction to give that much thought.)

Enough was enough; she couldn’t breathe and David’s shirt smelled like the vet office he worked in. And she was also kind of super curious to see what this guy looked like.

Thankfully, David didn’t put up a fight when she pulled his arms off of her, and only whined a little bit when she smacked him in the chest. Then she turned to this Killian guy, and it was like time stood still.

Killian was easily the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. High cheekbones and long, thick lashes framed the bluest eyes she'd encountered, and gingery scruff canvassed a jaw chiseled from stone; a dark thatch of chest hair teased from the unbuttoned vee of a shirt just tight enough that little was hidden of his built upper body; and tousled dark hair hung artfully in his face while his perfect full lips smirked at her, cutting a dimple into his cheek.  

The only thing she could think was that there was no way someone so attractive was human. (But she found herself eagerly hoping he was.)

“Emma; earth to Emma.” Suddenly, a hand was being waved in front of her face, pulling her out of her gaping—oh, crap, she was actually, full-on open-mouthed gaping at Killian. David was chuckling as she slammed her mouth shut, and she could feel heat rising on her cheeks, making them as bright red as the streaks in Ruby’s hair.

“I think she likes you,” David whisper-yelled to Killian as he took a seat next to him on the last stool.

“I tend to have that effect on people,” Killian answered in the same manner, throwing a poor excuse for a wink her way (but it still made her blush even harder).

Wait—what the hell was going on? She never got her feathers ruffled by a pretty face like this, and David never encouraged it. Regardless of her reaction, this was a setup if she ever saw one, and she wasn’t going to take the bait.

Trying to look cool (and probably failing but whatever), she brushed her hair behind her ears, smoothed her red leather jacket, and slid onto the empty stool next to Killian’s. “So, how the hell did you end up in Storybrooke? There really isn’t much here.”

“Well, there was a job,” he started, with a shrug and a chuckle—a deep, light thing that vibrated through her; she shivered involuntarily. “England didn’t have anything for me anymore and...this seemed like the place to start anew.” His smile didn’t fade, but his eyes softened a bit; she could tell that there was more to it than that, but she was the last person (or whatever she was) on earth to pry. So she kept it light.

“Really? You came here to start over? The US has so many problems right now.”

“So does the UK. Brexit and all.”

“Trump, though.”

“True. You might have that one.”

She was about to ask about his job (and was a little surprised at how quickly they fell into banter) when Ruby was in front of her, with her usual order and a wolfish grin.

“Don’t mind me; just dropping this off and I’ll get out of your feathers.” She cast a glance over at Killian, licked her lips at Emma, and then slunk away nearly as quickly as she’d shown up.

Emma just shook her head; seriously? Five minutes in town and everyone was already shipping her and the new guy? It was almost painful, but then again, that was Storybrooke.

Actually, something was kind of painful—her side. After her first (delicious) bite of grilled cheese, she set it down to stretch out, holding her arm over her head as she did.

“Are you taking up ballet now?” David teased. “Trying to learn some grace, finally?” Sometimes, he was such a big brother.

“Ha ha. No. We both know that's not possible,” Emma scoffed back. It really was ironic how clumsy she was, all things considered, but she didn’t think that had anything to do with this. “I think you pulled one of my muscles when you decided to drag me halfway across the diner. Thanks,” she deadpanned, then turned to Killian. “Sorry that you’re caught in the middle of this.”

He waved it off. “I had a brother; I know what it’s like.”

She didn’t linger on the fact that he used past tense, but still asked, “Was he as much of a ridiculous jerk as this guy?”

“Probably worse.”

The three of them fell into a combination of teasing and actual conversation over their meals. They discussed the differences between where he’d lived on the English coast and life here on the other side of the Atlantic. He explained that the proximity to the ocean was part of what drew him to their quiet little seaside town. For a moment, the mention of the sea sent up some Neal-related red flags, but then the conversation drifted into books and she forgot about it. That was his job—he’d taken the assistant librarian position in town, and was training to run things while the head librarian, Belle, went on a sabbatical to travel. And she catalogued the impressed, almost aroused way he arched an eyebrow when he found out she was a bounty hunter.

“You certainly strike me as a tough lass,” he observed, smirking wryly. “Remind me not to cross you.”

“Don’t skip your bail and we’ll be fine,” she teased back. “I’d hate to have to press that pretty face against the wall as I’m cuffing you.” She immediately blushed; she only ever flirted like that when she actually was trying to nab a skip—it had been years since she meant it.

He grinned, a devilish thing. “If you want to get close to me, you only have to ask. No need to use a hypothetical crime as an excuse.”

“Guys, I’m right here,” David protested, but his immediate smirk in Ruby’s direction told her that he really didn’t mind that much. (And honestly, it was kind of payback for all the sickeningly sweet scenes she’d been forced to witness between him and Snow over the years.)

Despite her embarrassment, she couldn’t hold back the smile that took over her features. She attempted to hide it in her last onion ring, but caught Ruby grinning at her from the kitchen. So she hid behind a napkin instead, clearing her face of any potential crumbs and—wait, why did she care? It wasn’t like she was looking to date him or anything….right?

Oh, but it was so fun flirting with him.

He’d returned his focus to the few remaining fries on his plate (“chips,” he called them), and she noticed his brow furrow as he rubbed at his chest.

“Oh, I should have warned you; Granny’s will give you heartburn if you’re not careful.”

“I heard that!” Granny shouted from the far back of the kitchen; of course she did, wolf hearing and all.

He chuckled. “I’ll remember that next time.” The weight of “next time” hung over them as they shared somewhat coy half-smiles; normally, she’d refute anything further, but something told her she couldn’t avoid Killian if she tried.

Just when she’d worked up the nerve to give Killian her number—even though something told her David had already put it in his phone—said older, annoying brother broke the moment. “Killian, don’t you have to get back to work?”

His eyes grew wide and flashed to the clock on the wall. “Oh, bloody hell, yeah,” he cursed, jumping up off the stool. He tugged some cash out of his back pocket (which Emma couldn’t help but watch; it turned out that he had an incredibly attractive back pocket), threw it on the counter, and grabbed a black leather jacket from where it had fallen on the floor.

“It truly was a pleasure, Emma,” he said as he slipped it on, giving her a genuine smile. “Until next time.”

“You too,” she replied, almost breathlessly, and then watched as he said “Later, mate,” to Dave and headed out the door. (She may have once again taken the opportunity to admire his back pockets, and everything they held.)

Once he was gone, she swiveled around on her stool to glare at David. “What the hell was that?” she demanded, but David answered by taking a massive bite of his tuna melt and studying the ceiling tiles.

She knew this game, though, and continued to stare at him while she munched on her onion rings. No way was he getting out of this conversation.

Dramatically, he swallowed and then feigned looking at his watch. “Oh, man, the time. That’s my lunch break; I better—”

“You better explain why you were simultaneously trying to set me up,” she commanded, putting her hand on his shoulder to keep him in place, and then added with a confused tilt of her head, “but also not?”

“You noticed that, huh?” he replied, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t?”

“Think, no; hope—maybe?”

She just shook her head. “God, you sound just like—”

“Emma!” Speak of the devil, there she was; the shout of her name pulled her attention to the door, where David’s wife Snow had just arrived. Although, there was absolutely nothing satanic about Snow—in fact, she was quite the opposite: in addition to her pure-sounding name (her parents were definitely hippies), she practically exuded rainbows, unicorns, and all things angelic. (As far as Emma knew, she wasn’t actually an angel, but she wouldn’t be surprised to be proven wrong.)

Even the sun behind her made a halo in Snow’s pixie-cut hair as she practically ran across the diner. “Ah, I’m so glad you made it!” she basically shouted in Emma’s ear as she attacked her with a hug. “You’re supposed to text me these things, you know?”

“Yes, I know, _Mom_ ,” she answered, putting emphasis on the title; Snow might be her sister-in-law, but half the time, she acted more like a parent. But a parent you could get drunk with. “I was going to, but I went to Cruella’s first to find out about the job, and then got distracted here by a couple of fledgling matchmakers.”

Snow pulled back wearing a look of recognition, and turned to David. “Oh, was Killian here?”

“Ugh, I should have known you were in on it, too,” Emma grumbled, leaning back against the counter. “I expect this from you; but now you’re dragging David into it?”

“It was his idea!” Snow protested.

“Seriously?” Emma complained, and both ladies turned to him, but he was once again conveniently too interested in his meal to answer.

So Snow launched into an explanation. “A few weeks ago, he said, and I quote, ‘Don’t you think Emma and Killian would make a cute couple?’ I told him that neither of you would really appreciate being set up, but agreed that I could totally see it.  And several times since then, he’s said he can’t wait for your next visit so he can introduce you two and, again, I quote, ‘watch the sparks fly’.”

David choked down his sandwich to throw back at Snow, “Okay, but you’re the one who said they’d have pretty babies.”

Now Snow was the one acting embarrassed. “It was just a hypothetical!”

Ruby was surreptitiously taking away her empty plate, but Emma always had a sixth sense where she was concerned, probably because of Ruby’s predator status. “And what’s your excuse?” she enquired.

“I just think you need to get laid, and Killian is sex on legs, so you better effing tap that.” She didn’t even bat an eye, giving her confident response and then taking the dishes back to the kitchen.

“You guys, seriously,” Emma whined, physically facepalming. She knew they meant well and just wanted to see her happy with someone. But they also all knew why she wasn’t keen on that idea, given what had happened with Neal. At least no one had brought up the “S” word; soulmates were a big deal to Snow, since she and David were, but she’d long since stopped trying to sign Emma up for a soulmate-finder service.

(She’d never admit it, but sometimes, when she watched her brother and sister-in-law’s relationship and thought of their matching marks—his a snowflake, hers a shepherd’s crook—she did truly long for the kind of companionship and support that they gave each other.

But then Neal’s words— _Who could love someone like you?_ —would trickle back in, and she’d quickly give up that line of thinking.)

Her complaints apparently didn’t stop Snow from whispering to Dave, “So, how did it go?”

“Answer that and die,” Emma interrupted, still holding her face in her hand.

She could almost hear Snow’s grin. “That’s all the answer I need, I think.” Emma just groaned and pushed herself off the counter to standing.

“Well, I’m gonna head out before you start wasting your time planning a wedding that will never happen.” Snow looked like she was about to protest, so Emma cut her off. “I’ve gotta do some reconnaissance for my job, but then I’ll be back at your place by dinner, okay?”

“Okay,” Snow conceded, sounding almost defeated. Emma hated doing that to her but her friend had an overactive imagination; it was always best to put a stop to things before her dreams regarding Emma’s love life got out of hand.

“Alright; see you later.”

* * *

Later that evening, Emma was curled up on the bed in her childhood room. David had inherited the house and the sheep farm that they grew up on after his mother (and Emma’s adoptive mother) passed away, so she always had a place when she came to Storybrooke. Despite what it may have seemed based on the warm reception earlier, she did actually make it home fairly regularly; this trip was just a bit out of her typical once-every-few-months schedule.

After figuring out where she’d best be able to do surveillance out by Cruella’s—in other words, where she could park near the water and not get noticed or caught in the tide—she’d headed back here for dinner and some Netflixing before they all went to bed. Emma wasn’t all that tired yet, though, so she was reading an old, worn out collection of fairy tales. Even if her life would never be one, she always enjoyed the stories and guessing at which ones were real. Though with this specific book—by Hans Christian Anderson—she’d never been able to decide.

The alarm on her phone went off at 10:50, startling her from her reading (and her musings on just how much of her life resembled _The Ugly Duckling_ ). The familiar tune of Tchaikovsky’s _Swan Lake_ played out of the tiny iPhone speaker, letting her know, like it always did, that she had 10 minutes to figure things out. A quick glance at her weather app told her it was supposed to be a dry, if cool, night; but she’d be fine out there.

Quietly, she headed outside and down the well-worn path to the pond on the farm. Her phone read 10:55, so she walked a bit quicker to get there on time.

An ancient-looking but incredibly solid dock jutted out into the pond, and at the end, a less-old but still worn box was built in. Emma’s footsteps thudded as she hurried to it, and she flipped open the makeshift cabinet. As quickly as she could, she pulled off everything she wore (eternally grateful for the relative privacy of the farm) and threw it in, dropping her phone on top of the pile. 10:59.

She’d just closed the lid and stood up straight when she felt it: the familiar tingle that started in her spine and spread. In the near-full moon, the merman-shaped mark on her right side stood in stark contrast to her pale skin. Her hand pressed down on it; she never really paid it much thought nowadays, but it was odd that the muscle she’d strained earlier was directly beneath it.

The tingling feeling intensified, just like it did every night; by now, she had this whole thing down exactly.

Her lone graceful move was this: she raised her arms overhead as feathers covered her skin and flowed down from her limbs to make wings. Then, she took a running leap off the end of the dock, gliding on those wings for a brief moment as her neck lengthened, her legs shortened, her nose and mouth became a beak, and her whole body rearranged itself.

When it was done and that tingling feeling stopped, she smoothly landed on the surface of the water—as a swan.


	2. Chapter 2

She wouldn’t exactly call what she had a superpower. But she was hesitant to label it a curse.

David had taken to calling her a Transformer, but she resented the comparison to an action figure, as accurate as it might be.

Ruby tried to call her a were-swan once, which Emma definitely preferred, save for the fact that the only time she didn’t transform was the night of the full moon and she didn’t want that misnomer.

So she’d settled on describing it as involuntary shapeshifting, or casually as her “Odette thing.” (Ironically, or maybe prophetically, _The Swan Princess_ had been her favorite movie at the group home she’d lived in the longest—or at least, it was until one of the older kids pulled the tape out of the well-loved VHS.)

All she knew was that every night at the stroke of 11 pm EST, she transformed into a swan. It didn’t matter where she was or what time zone she was in (which she had found out on a trip out west)—there was no getting around it, and she’d long since learned to deal with it.

Obviously, she’d been completely terrified the first time it happened. It was the summer before she turned 13 and she was up late reading, trying to get to the end of _Order of the Phoenix_ ; it had just come out that day and she _had_ to get to the end. The Weasley family had just left St. Mungo’s Hospital when suddenly, her entire being was consumed in pain, with some invisible force pressing down from all around her.

Her whimpers drew David’s attention, and he’d rushed into the room just in time to catch her transformation. Obviously, he then ran to grab his mom, and Ruth believed him when he told her what had happened, but she couldn’t understand anything when Emma answered her questions—only David could.

She found out a lot of things that night, incidentally. At first, she’d thought she’d fallen asleep and was dreaming, especially when she saw her reflection: what once had been the image of a too-skinny blonde girl had changed to a small, downy, greyish waterfowl. But David assured her that there were many people in the world who had different skills and traits—just like Tonks in her book. He himself could talk to animals, which was why Ruth couldn’t understand her but he could; he’d inherited it from his father, who passed away long before they adopted Emma.

(“Are werewolves real, too?” she’d asked. “Yeah,” he told her, a little hesitantly. “Like, Lupin werewolves or the guy that turned him?” “Uh...you’ll have to ask someone else that,” he answered, as if he knew exactly who she needed to talk to. She eventually figured that one out.)

Everything had felt so foreign and strange that first night, but David was her rock, assuring her that she wasn’t a freak—she was just extra special, and there was no way he’d let her leave them; even if she’d been adopted by them a few years prior, she was still a foster kid deep down, constantly afraid of being sent back.

Being the amazing big brother that he was, he just pulled her cygnet form into his lap and picked up reading aloud where she’d left off. The sun’s first rays had just broken over the horizon, visible from her bedroom window, as David closed the cover on the last page, and she began to transform back. It was far less painful this time, but still not pleasant, and she breathed her hugest sigh of relief once she was back in her normal body. Until she realized she was naked, of course, and pulled her blanket over her.

David left her to get some sleep after that, and she may have wordlessly tackle-hugged him in the kitchen later that morning. (“Was that for me staying with you, or because you’re sad about Sirius?” he asked, chuckling. “Both,” she decided.)

She didn’t transform again for another month, during which Ruth and David told her all they knew about supernatural beings; despite its small size, Storybrooke seemed to be a pocket of otherworldly energy, home to all manner of magic. Granny was eventually (inadvertently) brought into the loop when Emma surprisingly transformed during a sleepover with Ruby, who had begun her own werewolf transformations only a few months before.

(Consequently, Storybrooke did its best to keep to itself, lest society rain down on their little supernatural haven, and was generally cut off from the world at large. Few people came and few people left, even if its human inhabitants were still in the dark about their neighbors.)

Her transformations continued to be sporadic and somewhat unpredictable during her adolescence, but she eventually noticed that she’d feel a bit off on the days before it would happen. As time went on, she figured out the best ways to deal with it; for starters, it helped if she didn’t have clothes on; and being on the water made things much easier, so she made great use of the pond on their property during the warmer months. During those frigid Maine winters...well, that’s what the bathtub was for.

As she got older, her swan form also grew and matured from a cygnet to a full-fledged adult swan, not any visibly different from a normal one save for a silvery band of feathers around her neck. By the time she was 18, it consistently happened every night save for that of the full moon; her best guess was that it was some kind of evolutionary tactic to protect her from werecreatures.

It was a little annoying, not being able to do anything at night, but it was also kind of cool, and she’d never scoff at something that made her unique. For a kid who had grown up with nothing, and had been told by more than one asshat foster parent that she was nothing, having this side to her meant the world.

And: it was so much fun to fly.

Neal’s reaction to what she was hadn’t soured her towards her alternate form; it just made her even more cautious about who she told, and who she let into her heart. As it was now, only her closest friends and family knew, all of whom also fit into the supernatural category—so David, Ruby, Granny, Regina, and Snow (who, as it turned out, could talk to birds; it wasn’t uncommon for them to have late-night chats out at the pond or in the bathroom).

They never quite figured out why it happened, so Ruth’s best guess was that it was an inherited trait; but, not knowing who her parents were, they’d probably never find out. Even the blood test spell Regina had performed while they were drunk one full moon night a few years back was inconclusive. All she knew was that she’d been found on the edge of the road in a forest on nearby Swans Island, which hadn’t been named after the bird but had become associated with them nonetheless. And there were plenty of stories in Irish mythology about people shapeshifting into swans, who were identifiable by a gold or silver chain around their neck, not unlike her own metallic feathers.

She just had to assume that she was descended from those folks, and now wore a silver loop on a chain during the day as a way to keep herself connected to her potential ancestry; it was the last gift Ruth gave her before passing away six years ago.

Whenever her adoptive mother entered her thoughts, Emma’s hand drifted to the charm and started playing with it. Today, as she entered the library to do some research for this job, she was reminded of all the studying they had done there that first summer to figure out what she was—but not once had Ruth ever implied that it was something to be cured, or that there was ever something wrong with her; she just wanted to understand it so she could help Emma with it.

That kind of pure motherly love would forever be seared in Emma’s brain in connection with the musty smell of aging books, and it was why she still frequented libraries: to keep her closer to that feeling and those memories. She soaked it in when she entered the foyer of the library, probably looking a bit odd as she closed her eyes to inhale the familiar scent, but let them judge her; she didn’t really care.

Her feet followed the familiar path to the section on mythology, where they had spent countless days that summer. She knew way too much about the Greek gods now, as well as Norse legends and, obviously, Irish stories. Even though she’d probably read every book on these shelves, she was hoping there was something new, or maybe something she’d forgotten about that could help her with this case.

She was busy reading the spines of the books when a voice made her nearly jump out of her skin. “Anything I can help you find, love?” Killian had somehow snuck up on her and was casually leaning against the adjacent shelf, looking like sex incarnate in black skinny jeans, another button-up that was barely buttoned, and a pinstriped waistcoat. God, she hoped he wasn’t an incubus or some other weird demon; it had been ages since someone affected her like this.

“Jeez, you scared me. You sure you’re not a criminal? You’re awfully good at sneaking around.”

“Well, now I’m inclined to believe you actually are looking for an excuse to press me up against something,” he teased back. “I should warn you, though—these shelves aren’t as sturdy as they look.”

“I know.” He was clearly surprised by her quick, confident answer and suggestive wink, if the startled way his eyebrows went up was any indication. She’d let him use his imagination on how she’d learned that, though, and certainly wasn’t about to tell him that she’d tested their strength not through anything lewd, but by helping Belle reach a book on the top shelf by using a lower one as a stepladder...it was still dented, and her side hurt just thinking about that fall.

“Well, if not to catch a scoundrel, what brings you to the library today?” he asked, pushing off the shelf and leading with his hips before swaggering—there was no other way to describe his almost obscene gait—in her direction.

She had to swallow down whatever bawdy comment would surely have flown from her lips next, and then again to be able to speak without giving away her attraction. “I’m doing some research for the case I’m working on; I was hired to do some investigating out at the cove off of Ursula Road.”

“Oh, I live out there!” he exclaimed, smiling, but then narrowed his eyebrows in mocking inquisition. “Are you sure you’re not tracking me?”

“Positive,” she assured him, explaining how Cruella hired them. “It’s probably bogus, but I guess I can at least put a bit of effort into it. So I was just checking to see if there were any books here on sea creatures, or maybe anything about local legends.”

For a second, something close to panic, or maybe just general concern flashed on Killian’s face, his eyes wide and his jaw clenched. Shit, she probably shouldn’t have brought up the mythic stuff; now, he probably thought she was as crazy as Cruella. But he quickly schooled his features, slipping on a smirk that she could tell was a well-rehearsed front (or possibly his best fake customer service grin). “I’m sure we can find something along those lines,” he stated confidently and gestured to the shelves. “Shall we?”

She tried her damnedest to focus on the titles in front of her, but it was hard when she was all too aware of his presence, even if he wasn’t invading her space; he was at the complete opposite end of the shelf, but she kept stealing glances at him as he worked. At first, he seemed to be methodical and exact in his search, carefully assessing the spines as he searched. But he eventually relaxed, even going so far as to pull a pair of reading glasses out as he inspected a book he’d pulled out. She totally understood the sexy librarian thing now, especially as she watched his muscles move under his shirt when he placed the tome on the table in the center of the section.

Between the two of them, a small assortment of books quickly piled up. “How’s this for a start?” Killian asked, resting a hand on top of the collection.

“Looks pretty great to me.” Her eyes scanned the pile, and then kept going up; she wasn’t only talking about the books, and his smirk told her he was completely aware. There was no way she’d get anything done like this. But, given that she had plenty of time to figure out what may or may not be going on in the cove, she could take a day of not doing anything if it involved some shameless ogling with a side of flirting.

“I, ah, better let you get to it, then,” he said, glancing away and shyly scratching at the spot behind his ear, nearly knocking his glasses off. How did he do that—go from unbelievably handsome to ridiculously adorable in the blink of an eye? “And the library won’t quite run itself.”

“No, I suppose it won’t,” she replied, a little disappointed but knowing it was for the best. “Thanks for all your help,” she quickly added.

“My pleasure, love; and let me know if you need anything else.” He gave her one last smile before and turning and leaving the section. She settled down in a chair to get to work, but certainly admired the view as he walked away.

Just like she had all those years ago, and every now and then in high school, she threw herself into studying the books, looking for any sign of anything that might explain whatever it was that Cruella thought she’d seen. She doubted the cove was big enough for whales, but dolphins maybe—this far north, though, she wasn’t sure. She was pretty sure she could eliminate most of the local myths; the Pocomoonshine Lake Monster was too far inland, and the Saco River Monster was to the south. And she didn’t think Bigfoot could swim.

Nothing was really conclusive, though she took plenty of notes from the marine biology encyclopedias, so she moved onto the book on sea legends. She’d loved this one when she was younger, even before her first transformation: the large, thick almanac was filled with all kinds of incredible stories and equally gorgeous artwork. It was where she learned about the swan legends, but that was all it had really told her about her possible ancestry. That was enough for her to not write it off as a starting point for the present situation, though.

Opening the cover was its own kind of homecoming. Even if she was familiar with every page, maybe there was something she’d overlooked in the past that might stand out to her now.

The page on krakens was getting a new level of scrutiny from her when Killian came by again, reshelving a few returned books. “Finding anything?” he enquired casually, and she was thankful his back was to her as she admired the way he tucked a volume on the top shelf.

Until his blue eyes were on her again, and that wicked grin as he caught her staring took over his features. “Um, ah, yeah,” she stuttered, immediately looking down at the almost grotesque illustration of the giant squid in an attempt to hid her blushing. “There are a few leads.”

She forced herself to take some notes while he finished his task, but not a minute later, she was all too aware of his heat behind her, followed by a hand on the table and his bespectacled self looking over her left shoulder. “A kraken? Should I be worried?” His tone was completely playful, and understandably so; she didn’t want to scare him that it might actually be true, so she played along.

“Depends on how much time you spend in the water,” she replied in as joking a tone as she could muster.

“Quite a bit, actually.” She cocked her head to the side in question. “I have a small ship,” he clarified, almost too quickly. “I’d hate for her to get wrapped up in that thing’s ugly maw.”

“Well, I think you’ll be okay,” she assured him, but there was still something a bit distressed in Killian’s expression and the furrow of his brow. “Is that why you got freaked out when I asked about sea creatures?” she asked lightly, trying to keep it casual but ultimately curious.

“Ah, you caught that.” Now he was the bashful one, looking down. “I, ah...had a rather poor encounter with a crocodile once,” he explained, nodding toward his hand where it still rested on the table.

She didn’t mean to be rude, but her gaze followed his gesture, and then she couldn’t look away. Honestly, she was surprised she hadn’t noticed it, but the back of his hand was covered in thick, jagged scars; unprompted, he lifted it to show her the palm, across which equally gnarled lines ran and even onto a couple fingers, clearly limiting his mobility. She’d noticed that he favored his right hand, but hadn’t really thought much of it.

“Ouch,” she commented, not sure what else to say. “That sucks.” It really did, but again, she got that sense that he was only telling a partial truth; why would he make something up? Then again, she was one to talk, especially since they’d only known each other for all of 32 hours (yes, she was counting).

He just shrugged and pulled his hand back to his side. “It is what it is. No sense crying over damaged nerves.”

She snorted. “That’s a new one.”

“I aim to entertain,” he replied with a mock bow, bringing their conversation back to the lighter note it’d started on. Goodness, he was adorable; she almost wished she could just spend the rest of the day trading quips with him.

But 11 pm would inevitably roll around, even if that was still hours away; maybe she should extricate herself from the situation while she still could. Still smiling at him—because how could she not?—she moved to standing, closed the cover on this book, and grabbed a few others that looked like they had promise, making sure that at least a couple were actual science texts to both cover her bases and avoid any sidelong glances. (But if he wanted to make any other sort of glances, she was fine with that; lord knows she had.)

“All done?” he asked, surprised, as he straightened his posture.

“Not quite. But I’m finding the library to be a bit more of a distracting environment than I remember,” she ribbed lightly as she gathered her things.

He smiled slyly, catching on. “My sincere apologies, then,” he started as he moved to the pile of discarded books. “Perhaps if you tell me what’s drawing your attention away from your studies, I can make sure the issue is rectified before your next visit.” His head was bowed over the books but he was staring up at her through his thick-rimmed glasses, which magnified his even thicker lashes.

“Mm, something tells me you can’t.” And there was that smirk of his again; he really had a fantastic smile. Seriously, what was she doing? This had to be tempting fate, or at least drawing the attention of some disgruntled demigod. Time to move back into the realm of casual conversation. “Want me to help you put those back?” she asked as he picked up the stack of leftover books.

“No!” he practically shouted; she was slightly taken aback. “Sorry,” he said, more calmly. “It’s just...I’m sure you know how Belle is about the Dewey decimal system.”

Emma could only laugh as she pulled her books into her arms. “Oh yeah; I’ve had that lecture before.” Belle was a total sweetheart, but no one dared to mess with her library.

He set his pile on the rolling shelf cart he’d been using. “Come on, I’ll check you out...uh, check those out for you.” Now he was the one blushing at his Freudian slip; Emma did all she could to bite back her laughter.

They’d both recovered in the short trip to the circulation desk, and he went about scanning the books while she dug out her library card. Their fingers brushed when she handed it over, making her quickly pull her hand back; if he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

Well, he didn’t say anything about _that_. “Um, this might be a bit forward of me,” he started as he scanned her card, then looked over at her as he placed it on top of the books. “But if you’re not busy tonight, would you maybe want to get dinner at Granny’s?”

She was dangerously close to having another embarrassing jaw-dropping scenario—she did not expect that question. And while normally, she was glad that she had an out for any evening activities, for the first time in years, she kind of resented it. “I wish I could, but...I have to help David with some stuff on the farm tonight,” she lied.

Unfortunately, he did pick up on that one. “It’s alright; I get it,” he replied dejectedly, his face falling a bit—and that felt even worse than the lie.

“What about tomorrow?” she asked quickly, before she could mentally talk herself out of it. It would be the full moon, and given that that was the one night Ruby couldn’t do anything, her schedule was wide open—and she couldn’t think of anyone better to spend it with.

His expression morphed into a much happier one, a small smile playing at his lips. “Yeah, I think my schedule is clear.”

“What’s a good time?”

“Does 6 or 7 work?”

“6 sounds perfect.”

“Excellent. See you then, love.”

She pulled her books off the counter and gave him a wry grin. “Can’t wait,” she told him, and then hightailed it out of the library before she got any other crazy ideas.

As she power walked to her car, she shifted her books from her right arm to her left; that annoying ache in her side was starting up again. But physical complaints were low on her list of concerns, because it hit her: she’d just agreed to her first actual date since Neal.

Holy crap.

* * *

A few hours later, she was parked on a patch of gravel off to one side of Cruella’s house, perfectly positioned so she could see all of the cove while also avoiding being seen by the people who lived there; she’d had more than enough socialization for one day. The books she’d checked out were on the seat next to her and she’d pushed her seat far back enough to be able to read the one on sea legends by the light of the almost-full moon.

Somewhere in the woods off to her right, the howl of a few wolves sounded—Ruby and a few of her friends were out. The idea that werewolves only transformed on the full moon was one of the things people got wrong; the truth was that they could generally transform at will, once they got a handle on it, but didn’t have a choice the night of the full moon. Given that tomorrow was a Saturday, it sounded like Ruby was making a long weekend of it.

Emma would be worried about her own impending transition, but she trusted Ruby’s pack to leave her alone. And as long as she was out on the water, she’d be fine. It was probably silly to be out in the cove since she didn’t know if anything dangerous was actually in it or not, but worst-case scenario, she had wings and whatever it was (if it even actually existed) probably didn’t.

That, and she hadn’t seen anything yet—not a spot of unordinary movement, and nothing disturbing the calm ebb of the waves. She was splitting her gaze between the book and the sea, and the book was proving to be much more entertaining.

She turned the page, finally getting to her favorite one: mermaids. Well, merfolk—the illustration depicted both mermaids and mermen in a gorgeous underwater scene, with a full spectrum of skin tones, hair colors, and tail hues.

More than once, she’d gotten lost in imaginations of what it might be like to have that be what she transformed into: to have scales and a tail instead of feathers and wings; to just be able to dive into the water and swim away.

Once her soulmark had come in, that only increased her interest. The mark itself started as just a collection of freckles across her ribcage not too long after her first transformation, along with all the other things that come with puberty. She didn’t think anything of them at first—just thought she needed some more sunblock while swimming—until it filled in, lines forming the shape of a merman. (Not a mermaid for sure; it was missing certain parts for that.)

David had been the first to realize what it was, explaining that his had come in the same way, though Emma hadn’t noticed the snowflake on the back of his shoulder until their first swim the previous summer and by then, it was complete.

He’d been a typical big brother then, insisting that even her soulmate would have to meet his approval. Maybe it should have been a sign that he never approved of Neal. Oh well, it didn’t matter now; she shook her head to bring herself back to the present.

Her eyes skimmed the familiar pages, not finding anything new in the text—but it did make her wonder: maybe that was what Cruella had seen? Could there be a merperson in Storybrooke? She’d never met one, but she knew that didn’t mean anything. It seemed a bit on the small side compared to what the crazy lady had described, but Cruella’s testimony wasn’t going to be the most reliable anyways.

She added it to her mental “maybe” list and kept going through the book, also making note of the Beisht Kione Dhoo, an creature said to live in the Irish Sea with a horse-like head and the body of a serpent (hey, it could migrate); the Hippocampus, a Greek legend that had the body of a horse and tail of a fish (not to be confused with a seahorse, though); and Chessie, the serpent-like creature that supposedly lived in Chesapeake Bay (again, it could travel).

But when she got the page on ashrays—the Scottish legend of nocturnal, translucent water creatures that melted in sunlight—she was willing to bet that that was whatever might be in here (or was at least planning on telling Cruella that, should nothing show up). She was still reading up on them when _Swan Lake_ rang out again.

Another reason she’d picked this secluded spot was so she could transform in privacy. She cranked the drivers-side window down, slipped her keys in a semi-hidden compartment in the door, and stripped down as best she could in the seat until she had to get out.

The familiar tingle started again as she stood, and that weird ache in her side flared for a hot second before the transformation took over. She didn’t partake in last night’s theatrics, not wanting to draw attention to herself, and just let the change happen in place.

When it was done, she waddled to the edge of the water and then swam off, deciding to make a lazy path around the perimeter to see if anything (or anyone) showed up.

She took her time to meander the shallows and occasionally poke her head under to see if there was anything worth seeing, though an ashray would be hard to see from here. Nothing stood out to her, but it was at least a change of pace from the swimming hole back home or the little pond behind her townhouse in Boston.

There was some novelty in swimming under the docks and watching the dappled reflection of the light of the moon play on the underside of the wood. Actually, a lot of novelty; every now and then, she got what she called “swan brain”, when she got terribly distracted by something that wouldn’t normally command her attention—usually something shiny. This definitely qualified.

At some point, she forgot about keeping an eye out for the mystery monster in favor of finding the dock with the best light show and camping out there for the night. One was too low; another too high—but the next one looked just perfect. (How utterly fairy tale of her.)

On the way, though, the snap of a can opening pulled her from her fugue. She looked up and sitting on an Adirondack chair near the broad end of said dock, with a small sailboat tied up alongside, was Killian, drinking a beer.

Instinctively, she wanted to hide and curl in on herself so he wouldn’t see her; it felt like she was spying. Until she remembered that he wouldn’t recognize her (something she should be used to by now but somehow wasn’t). So she continued to swim as nonchalantly as possible, ducking under a few more times to make it seem like she was looking for food.

But of course, when she popped up closer to the dock, he was staring at her. It was casual, like he was just watching her because she was there, but his intense gaze still made her shiver, making her ruffle her feathers. He continued to watch her as she passed under the dock—which did truly have the best light show, but no way was she going to stop there now—and she could tell his eyes were still on her as she came out the other side.

In a weird way, it was kind of nice knowing she caught his attention even in this form, but it was also a stark reminder: if things actually went anywhere, she’d eventually have to reveal this side of her to him, and leave herself bare to his reaction.

Something in her gut told her Killian wouldn’t be as cruel as Neal, but she’d barely known him for 48 hours (still counting). And yet, she couldn’t shake her optimism on it; did Snow slip her something?

She shook herself out again as she passed under the next dock past Killian’s; she was putting the feather before the arrow, or whatever variation on a cliche worked. The date first—they had to get through that.

(And for the first time in ages, she was actually excited for one. Even as she continued the arc of the cove, whenever she cast a glance at where Killian was sitting in the moonlight, a quick little thrill made her avian heart race.

Was it tomorrow night yet?)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay on this update! Life has been crazy, and doesn't look to be slowing down, but I'm squeezing in writing whenever I can and am so excited to share the rest of this story with you all. Thanks for your patience and I hope you enjoy!

Once Emma had reached the far end of the cove, where it met the Atlantic, she turned around and worked her way back, but was disappointed to find that Killian was nowhere in sight. So she went back to what she was being paid to do, continuing to keep an eye out for movement, otherworldly or otherwise.

She was still pretty certain that she didn’t believe Cruella, until she caught a glimpse of a weird, vaguely human-shaped flash on one of her peeks beneath the surface. She didn’t have a terribly clear view of it, but it seemed to blend in with the water—which matched the description of an ashray.

Since Killian was gone, she decided to settle in for the night under his dock and just pray he wasn’t going for a pre-dawn sail. Her gaze was came to rest on the surface, but eventually she found herself nodding off, and tucked her beak under a wing as she drifted to sleep.

At dawn, she woke up to the usual tingle that told her it was time to find dry ground unless she felt like skinny dipping. She stretched her neck and shook the salt water from her feathers, and then took a look at how far it was to her car—too far. Shit.

The change was imminent, but she couldn’t, not yet. Ugh, she hated when this happened. It took way more mental energy than she felt like using, but whenever she found herself in this situation—not having enough time to get back to her clothes, usually when she was doing an overnight stakeout like this—she’d figured out how to delay the change just long enough to get back to her clothing or whatever.

Keeping the mental image of her swan form in her head, she felt the prickling slow down, giving her time to paddle out to open water and take off in flight. She covered the distance back to her car much faster than she thought she was capable of, and somehow managed to land on the open window ledge gracefully.

She hopped down on the seat and relaxed, and the transformation took over immediately. Even though she only delayed it by a couple of minutes, it left her feeling exhausted; she took just enough time to tug on her jeans and tshirt—not even shoes—and drove home, barefoot, as quick as possible, where she trudged in and up to her room, and promptly passed out until noon.

* * *

David and Snow were obviously at work by the time Emma woke up, which meant it was just her and her thoughts for most of the day. Which meant yesterday’s excitement had become today’s nerves.

She honestly couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone on a date that wasn’t a setup to catch a skip. There was a vampire once that she’d enjoyed talking to—and, in the process, learned that Olive Garden’s garlic bread sticks had no effect on him, so either the garlic was fake or the myth surrounding it was—but the evening still ended with him in holy water-doused cuffs (that legend was true, at least).

Still, she used her normal going-out routine to help her calm down for the evening to come. Well, almost normal; she spent an inordinately long time in the bath, skimming the internet for information on ashrays, and then may took half an hour to debate between the two dresses she brought—both of which were better suited for honey traps than first dates—before giving up and raiding Snow’s closet; thank goodness they wore the same size.

After settling on a blush pink, A-line frock and matching light makeup, she was trying to decide what to do with her hair when a knock sounded on her bedroom door and Snow poked her head in, asking, “Hey, what are you up t—is that my dress?”

“Uh, yeah?” Emma replied, somewhat sheepishly.

Snow let herself the rest of the way into the room. “I certainly don’t mind, but what’s the occasion?” She came to stand next to Emma in front of the room’s full-length mirror, assessing Emma’s reflection with a wondering smile.

Emma had kind of been hoping to be out of the house before either Snow or Dave found out about this, knowing that a first date was practically an engagement in their eyes. Though, this was Storybrooke; they would have found out eventually. “I, uh, have a date tonight. With, um, Killian.”

Emma was not at all surprised by the squealing, clapping, and jumping that elicited from Snow. “Oh my gosh! Where are you going? What are you going to do? How did he ask? Oh, thank goodness it’s the full moon! Do you need condoms?”

“Holy crap, Snow; it’s a date, not a proposal. And you did not just go there.”

“I did, and I make no apologies. Actually, I shouldn’t even have suggested that; you two would make the cutest babies.”

“Snow!”

“What? I’m just saying. David was totally right.”

Emma’s head fell back and she let out an exaggerated groan. “You’re not helping!”

“Sorry,” Snow said softly. As much as she liked to tease, she was well aware of Emma’s romantic history; she and David had just started dating when things fell apart with Neal. “How can I help?”

Emma righted her head and looked at Snow via the reflection. “Do my hair?”

Snow answered with an encouraging grin. “Of course.”

* * *

An hour or so later—and a few minutes before 6—Emma was outside Granny’s, her hair done up in a Barbie-esque (but classy) ponytail. She knew she should just go in, but even if Ruby wasn’t working tonight, the eyes of Storybrooke would still be on her.

“You didn’t have to wait out here for me, love,” Killian’s voice sounded from a short distance. She turned, and there he was at the end of the walkway, looking like he should be the meal tonight. It wasn’t much different than what he had on yesterday, but the jeans were black this time and topped with a matching leather motorcycle jacket. Her jaw dropped yet again; how did he keep doing that?

He seemed equally stunned as he gaped at her. “You look stunning, Emma,” he said, almost breathlessly, eyes wide with a soft smile as he presented her with a single rose, held lightly in his damaged hand.

Hell, even that was making her heart flutter; no one she wasn’t related to had ever done something so small and yet so sweet for her, not even Neal. All she could manage to stutter out in response as she took the proffered stem was, “You...look…”

“I know,” he finished for her, smirking. She snorted and rolled her eyes at that, but it was just as much for show as him saying it was. He scratched behind his ear, betraying the fact that he was as nervous as she was. But he seemed to get over it, and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

She slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow, only slightly blushing, and commented playfully, “I didn’t realize you were such a gentleman.”

He went ahead of her on the steps up to the door, but still held her hand; after he opened it, he turned back and gestured for her to go ahead. “I’m always a gentleman, love,” he replied, winking badly.

It was easy to imagine what Ruby’s reaction would be were she there, watching them slide into opposite sides of an empty booth; Emma could almost hear the “YASSSS”s and “GET ITTT”s. That was another perk to scheduling this on the full moon: no added pressure from meddlesome werewolves, who were off wherever doing their werewolf thing.

Which was good, because if they were both already a bit on edge, Ruby would probably send them both over it. As it was, neither had said a word since they sat down, instead pretending to look at the menus they both had probably memorized while stealing glances at the other—until, just like in a movie, their eyes met, and they nervously chuckled.

“Sorry,” she started. “I haven’t done this in a long time.”

“Me either,” he answered.

“I find that hard to believe,” she commented; no way someone as flirtatious as him didn’t have dates, or at least pick up girls at the bar, on the regular. And she swallowed down the tiny bit of bile-like jealousy that rose in her throat at the thought; where the hell did that come from?

“Likewise,” he countered lightly. “I suppose I meant more along the lines of: this is the first time in a long while I’ve gone out with someone I truly fancied,” he admitted, glancing up at her almost shyly through his lashes.

She pursed her lips and swallowed. “Same here,” she agreed, surprising herself with her honesty and giving him a tiny, encouraging smile. It was nice to know that they were in the same boat.

And so too, it seemed, was their waitress; it looked like she was brand new and not quite ready to be thrown to the wolves of (or rather, cover for the wolves during) dinner rush. The poor girl barely had a grip on her tray and it only had two glasses of water on it. Her squeak of a greeting interrupted the silent conversation Emma and Killian were having, and she managed to set one glass on the table just fine. But Emma could see her hand shaking on the next, and it was almost slow motion watching it slip from her fingers and splash all across Killian’s side of the table.

Before it had a chance to spill on his lap, Killian leapt out of the booth—which was almost as jarring as the clatter of the cup in the first place. Judging from the panicked expression on his face as he watched the water drip onto the seat he had just occupied, he was downright scared of it.

The waitress apologized profusely and pulled a rag from her apron, and Killian shuffled over to Emma’s side of the table as the girl cleaned, as if to put as much distance between him and the spill as possible. He was inspecting his jeans for any drops, she guessed, and glancing at a leather bracelet on his left wrist. Honestly, his overreaction was kind of weird, and kind of freaking her out a bit.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked, reaching out to take his right hand in her left. Her touch drew his eyes first to where she gripped his fingers, and then to her face; she must have worn her concern in her expression because he he immediately became apologetic.

“Aye, I am; sorry to cause alarm,” he said softly, squeezing her hand in assurance. “Just didn’t quite feel like going for a dip at the moment.”

Well, that she could understand. But she could still tease. “No? I thought you loved the water.”

“When I choose to be in it,” he threw back, then leaned in; she could feel his warm breath on her ear. “I much prefer other things to be wet,” he said suggestively, popping the ‘t’, and causing her to shift in her seat just a little bit. She really hoped he hadn’t seen that, but the suggestive smirk he threw her way said otherwise.

“I don’t pillage and plunder on the first date, just so you know,” she quipped; in reality, she was no stranger to one-night flings, but she never had to see those people again—and she didn’t want that to happen with Killian.

“Well, that’s because you haven’t been out with me yet,” he answered, and she could see his tongue making lewd gestures behind his teeth (if that was a thing that tongues could do). “I must say, though—that’s the first time I’ve been referred to as a pirate.”

“Seriously? You have a ship and you flirt with everything; I’m surprised you haven’t yet.” She wanted to add that his apparent history with a crocodile definitely warranted a Captain Hook comparison, but didn’t want to put any more of a damper on tonight.

The waitress was back to take their orders, and conversation continued from there, mainly sticking to casual topics: how he was liking the US and how it compared to home (“Much drier,” he assessed; she told him to wait until winter); favorite books (he preferred Hemingway while she loved Austen, but both had a soft spot for _The Princess Bride_ ); and finally to her job in town.

“Did the texts give you any leads?” he asked, before popping a french fry into his mouth.

“Maybe? I’m still not convinced there’s actually anything there, but don’t worry—no krakens,” she promised him as she picked at her last onion ring. “Do you know if there’s anything else I can take a look at?”

He chewed and stared at the ceiling as he thought, brows furrowed, and then swallowed and looked back at her. “I think there’s another section we can pick through, whenever you come in next. And, I’m no marine biologist, but I’ll gladly help survey.”

“I’d love that,” she gushed, not really thinking about the implications of a likely Muggle coming in contact with what might be a magical creature. (Though, technically, he’d already gotten close to several.)

“I’m surprised you didn’t find anything in those books on legends you borrowed,” he added, smirking.

Busted. “Oh, those,” she said as casually as possible. “Stakeouts can get boring. Fiction helps.” She hoped that was enough for him to not question it.

It seemed to work. Ever the gentleman, he paid the bill and then, outside the diner, asked, “Could I interest you in an almost-moonlit stroll along the shore? Maybe we can catch a glimpse of your not-kraken, or whatever it might be.”

The sun hadn’t quite set yet, but the night was young and, for a change, she had nowhere to be but here. “I think you could,” she answered coyly.

“Good.” He held his hand out to her, and she eyed it for a moment before taking it. Their fingers intertwined almost perfectly, and they were off.

They made their way first towards the marina; the bobbing of all the boats and gentle ringing of their bells always sounded like home to her. Even though she found herself near the harbor fairly often back in Boston, it wasn’t quite the same. “Does the sea here smell different to you?” she asked, breaking their easy silence as they set foot on the docks.

“Aye,” he agreed. “It’s a bit crisper and cleaner here; more like where I grew up.”

“And where’s that?”

“A wee island off the coast of England. It’s pretty inconsequential.”

She shrugged. “So is Storybrooke; I bet you feel right at home.”

He chuckled. “Believe it or not, Storybrooke is actually bigger.”

“Damn.” She hadn’t been anywhere smaller than here; the thought was mind-boggling, especially as she glanced around the small marina. “So you left your tiny hometown for the ‘big’ city?”

“Well, I did live in Plymouth for a while, but it was too congested for my taste.”

“You’d hate Boston, then.”

“Probably.”

“Especially considering what we did to your tea there.”

“Then definitely,” he said with a laugh that crinkled the fine lines around his eyes, the orange light from the lamp at the end of the pier they’d reached making them all the more noticeable.

“And yet, here you are, living among the descendants of your country’s rebellious younger children,” she teased.

He smiled and laughed politely, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time.

“Did I say something wrong?” she asked, worried; so much for keeping things light.

“No, no, you didn’t,” he assured her. “Just...I was the rebellious younger child,” he explained.

They started to walk back down the dock and she was feeling rather guilty for bringing up what obviously was not entirely a happy memory, based on his reaction. She wanted to say something, though she wasn’t sure if she should apologize or ask him to continue. He didn’t give her the choice either way, as he went on. “My older brother, Liam—he was the good one; I could never quite rein it in like he could. There was too much to see, too much to do. He would have rather I stayed in one place so he could keep an eye on me.”

“Yeah, I think all big brothers are like that. David sure is,” she concurred; he’d thrown a fit when she moved to Boston.

“I can see that. Actually, David reminds me a lot of Liam sometimes. They’ve got the same type of stubbornness, but the same fierce heart.”

“That’s...probably the best way to describe him that I’ve ever heard.” They’d reached the end of the main stretch of the marina and headed down the well-worn footpath that cut through the forest to the cove, the view of the darkening sky cut into fragments by the sparse pine trees. “He drove me nuts at first, and he still does, but I eventually figured out that was just his way of showing he loved me. So I made sure to give it back to him in full.”

They shared a knowing laugh that only younger siblings could. And she also realized they were still holding hands; that had to be a personal record—but it felt so natural, too.

“I hope you don’t mind my asking,” he started, “but when you say ‘at first’...”

“Oh, I was adopted by the Nolans. I was almost 10 when I started living with them, then 11 when it was official.” She’d forgotten that there was someone in Storybrooke who didn’t know her entire life story; whether that was good or bad was up for debate.

“Orphan?” His question was casual enough, but she felt old walls coming up at it. Even if it had been years, that word had once been a playground taunt; thank goodness it didn’t apply anymore.

“Used to be,” she answered quietly, trying to keep the old hurt out of her voice. “But David and his mom made sure I wasn’t anymore.” Ruth and Dave (and eventually Snow) had never let her feel like anything less than a full and important member of the family, and most of the time, it was like she’d always been there.

“Good,” he replied. “And I apologize for the assumption; you just had something of that look about you.”

“Look?” She’d honestly never heard that before.

“The look you get when you’ve been left alone.”

Oh, she knew what that meant. “I’d ask how you know what that is, but I’m not sure tragic backstories are really first-date material,” she retorted lightly.

“May as well get it out of the way,” he shrugged, throwing half a grin to her.

He had a point. She tended to keep her past bottled up, either because the memories were unhappy or she just didn’t want it thrown back at her. But maybe if she was trying to build something new, it was worth it to get rid of some old baggage.

“Well, you’ve already got the gist of mine,” she said. “Found abandoned as an infant on the side of the road and got stuck in the foster system. Had a pretty not-great experience there, though thankfully nothing too horrific. And then I got placed with Ruth and the rest is history.” Okay, there was more to that, but she had to save something for the next date, right? (Which, of course, was shocking to her—that she figured there would be another one.) “What about you?”

“Not quite the same scenario, but there are some similarities,” he began to explain as the path spilled out to the cove, not far from where she was parked last night. They continued their stroll, wandering down the rocky shore. “My mum died when I was young, and my father didn’t stick around, so it was just Liam and me for a long time. He basically raised me, from about 10 on, but he passed around a decade or so ago, so I’ve been on my own for a while now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she replied, squeezing his hand. “Can I ask how?”

“A boating accident,” was his quiet reply. He was staring out at the water of the cove, probably imagining it. She knew it was far too easy to get lost in memories that way; she’d done it so many times with the fallout from Neal.

So she gripped his hand again to pull him out of that. “Is that why you have a boat now? To honor his memory?”

He looked over at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read in the waning light, then down the shore to where his sailboat was gently bobbing, and then just down, watching where he stepped on the stones. “Aye, part of it; but it’s not just to remember him. When you’ve spent most of your life in, or on the water, you need to have some way to stay connected to it.” She just hummed in agreement; given her usual nightly activities, she understood that all too well. “Would you...like to see it?” he asked, slightly nervously.

“Sure!” she blurted out. “I’d love to.”

“Excellent!” And like two giddy schoolchildren, they nearly ran down the rest of the beach to Killian’s dock and made a huge ruckus as they stomped over it to the boat’s mooring.

It was a sleek thing, not overly huge, but big enough that she could make out a small cabin below deck. The sails were all tucked away, obviously, but it was still impressive. And painted on the back, the end closer to shore, in an almost old-fashioned script was its name—which she kind of had to laugh at.

“You protest being called a pirate, yet you own a boat called the _Jolly Roger_?”

He just gave her a shit-eating grin as he climbed aboard, then held a hand out to help her on. It took a second for her to get her bearings as their weight shifted the boat, but she wouldn’t complain about him having to hold her hands with both of his until she did.

It seemed to be a bit of an older ship—not like one of those massive old wooden ships, but definitely from several decades ago—and it was beautiful, with fresh paint and polished wood trim. He toyed with the wheel a bit and it wasn’t hard for her to picture him standing there under a bright sun, wind whipping his fringe as the boat clipped over the waves.

Normally, thoughts like that would send up some red, soulmark-bearing flags; but she didn’t have a chance to let her mind get that far because, of course, he caught her staring at him. “Like the view?” he practically taunted, gripping the wheel a bit harder and smirking as if he was posing with it.

“Mm, it’s not bad,” she grossly understated.

He placed a hand on his chest and gasped in false indignation. “Well, perhaps the one below deck would be to your liking?” he suggested, tilting his head to the stairs that led below.

“Maybe.”

He quirked an eyebrow and gave her a sideways smile as he descended; she waited a hot second to follow, enjoying the rear view of those jeans for the umpteenth time.

But she quickly joined him in what was a small but surprisingly spacious cabin, furnished with what looked like a sofa bed (presently in couch form), a small galley kitchen, and a tiny bathroom at the head. Cozy was putting it lightly, but it still seemed comfy.

“This is quite the setup you’ve got here, Jones,” she commented, running her hand on the polished wood of the ceiling only inches above her head; he could just barely stand up down here.

“Why, thank you,” he replied, heading to the fridge. “Beer?”

“Sure.”

He pulled a couple of bottles from the mini fridge and handed one to her (a Killian’s; she rolled her eyes). “Aye, my ship, small as she is, is a marvel. And came quite in handy when it was time to move across the Atlantic.”

“Seriously? You moved here in this?”

“How else was I supposed to get it here? And have you seen the rates on overseas shipping? Bloody ludicrous.”

“I believe it,” she said with a laugh, and continued to look around. A small portrait on what she guessed was an end table-nightstand combo caught her eye; it was a black-and-white print of a slightly older woman, with long, dark curls and light eyes. It looked like she was on a beach, sun on her face, wind in her hair, and a smile on her lips. She was stunning. “Is this your mother?” she asked, hoping she was right given that he hadn’t mentioned any other female relatives.

“Uh, no,” he replied, and when she looked back at him, he had that same sad look in his eyes from earlier. “That’s...her name was Milah.” The reverent way he said her name told her everything: this was a lost love. “She’s...gone now,” he added.

Even though he only used a few words, those paired with his body language and tone were enough for a lot of things about Killian to make sense, especially his confession about this being his first real date in a while. This wasn’t something she could be jealous about, either, because she’d been there—she knew all too well what it was like to throw yourself into a fling or limit things to one-nighters; you could front and say it was all you wanted, but it was really to protect your heart.

“I know how that goes,” Emma admitted. “She was beautiful; I bet she was amazing.”

“Aye, she was.” He didn’t seem sure about how to continue from there, and she wasn’t sure what else to say; it almost felt like she was invading on a private moment, though she knew that wasn’t what he’d intended. It was just a bit awkward.

Thankfully, he found a solution. “Shall we go back up? I imagine Mother Nature has prepared quite a sight by now.”

She tilted her head in curiosity. “Yeah, sounds great,” she agreed with a small smile, and followed him back up the steps. And he was right—her breath was nearly taken away when she gazed out over the water. “Wow,” she sighed.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “There’s no sight like a full moon on the waves.”

She was more than used to the view of an almost full moon dancing on the rippled surface, but it seemed so much brighter and surreal tonight now that it was full. She usually spent these nights either out on the town or enjoying the plush bed she didn’t get much use out of, but clearly, she’d been missing out on this.

As if to make the magical setting complete, a wolf started howling in the distance, and then a few more joined in; it wasn’t hard for her to pick out Ruby’s in the chorus.

“That seems appropriate,” Killian observed, chuckling lightly, then gestured for her to take a seat in one of the chairs. “Though I was somewhat shocked that there were so many wolves here.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” she couldn’t help but quip.

They both sat and got settled, and then she took a sip of her beer and glanced back over at him. He was staring across the water, blue irises shining and pale in the moonlight; but there was a vacancy in his stare that told her he was probably lost in memories.

“What was she like?” she heard herself asking quietly. She didn’t want to pry, but clearly, this Milah was special, and whatever happened there had done a number on him.

His eyes flitted to her, then looked down bashfully. “She was...I’m not entirely sure there’s an accurate adjective. Stunning, fierce, bold, adventurous...passionate. Something like that.”

“Can I ask what happened?” Emma said quietly.

He swallowed. “Well, in addition to being all of those things, there were some...barriers to our relationship; a key one being that she was married.”

“Shit.”

“That’s an accurate way of putting it,” he nodded. “Despite that, we fell in love hard and fast, and it was wonderful for quite a while. We’d made plans and prepared to run away together—to sail someplace warm where her husband would never find us—but he got wind and...and he killed her.”

She was stunned, and her heart broke for him. Losing a brother was bad enough—she could barely comprehend that—but this? “Oh, Killian; I’m so sorry.” He replied by taking a swig of beer, so she continued. “The husband—he’s in jail, right?”

“He should be,” Killian nearly growled. “But no. He tried to get me after he shot her, but didn’t quite manage it,” he explained, holding up his scarred left hand. “But he...was too influential, where we were; the authorities would never have listened to me. So I went into hiding—Milah asked me to before she died—and...now I’m here.”

“Oh my god, is he still after you? Do you need help? I’ve got friends in law enforcement; we can make sure—”

“No, no; it’s fine now, and it was a while ago,” he cut her off with a wave, and she was relieved to see he was smiling at her panicky outburst. “I’d shaken him off my tail long before I crossed the ocean. But I do appreciate the concern.”

“Okay, good,” she said, relaxing. Even if they’d only known each other a few days, the thought of anything bad happening to him filled her with dread. “My offer stands, though.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that, love.”

An easy silence settled over them, but she couldn’t shake his story from her mind. Just the thought of it—well, that and the cool wood she sat against and the decreasing temperature of the night air—made her shiver.

Ever the gentleman, Killian noticed it, stood from his seat, slipped off his jacket, and came behind her to tuck it around her shoulders. He didn’t even say anything—he just did it. “Better?” he asked as he sat back down.

“Yeah; thank you.” It was warm from his body heat and smelled like leather, salt, and something spicy. She pulled it tight around her and took another sip of beer, letting the comfort of it wash over her. It was a weird thought connection to make, but she couldn’t help but add, “My ex never did anything like this. Maybe that was a sign right there.”

She wasn’t entirely sure why that was what popped into her head, especially given the tale Killian had just told and the fact that she tried to push Neal out of her thoughts as often as possible. But hearing about the kind of relationship Killian had just put hers into stark relief.

“That’s terribly rude of him,” Killian stated matter-of-factly. “A lady like yourself deserves only the best.”

“He seemed like that at first,” she lamented. “But it’s nowhere near as rough as your story; I won’t bore you with it.” At least her relationship had ended by choice; not hers, mind you, but one of the involved parties’.

“A scar is a scar, Emma; doesn’t matter how you get it.”

“You sure you want my sob story?”

“I’d love to learn more about your beginnings.”

She took a breath before diving in. “His name was Neal, and it seemed like a match made in heaven or wherever,” she started. “He was sweet and a smooth talker with a low tolerance for bullshit and a rough history with his parents; he grew up without his, too. He wasn’t a gentleman or anything—no chivalrous streak at all—but at least he wasn’t a misogynist, I guess. It was good and we were happy, until...we weren’t.”

“I guess it’s my turn to ask: what happened?”

She shrugged. “For one, he fell in love with someone else. Started seeing her behind my back and then I caught them out on a date while I was tracking a skip. And then it was the usual big fight, lots of tears, playing the soulmate card, all that nonsense. So I was left with a broken heart and he got his happy ending.”

“I take it that he wasn’t your soulmate, then?”

“No, definitely not; he left me for his. I guess I can’t fault him, but I’d thought he was mine, even though he never would have fully accepted me. Was Milah yours?”

“No; I too had thought so, but she didn’t have a mark.”

She hummed in understanding, but then froze—she’d just brought up the S-word. She _never_ did that. But she’d basically just admitted to having one...and so had he. Oh shit. Shit shit shit.

She didn’t know if she could look at Killian after accidentally admitting that; what if it scared him off? Or worse, raised false hope? Finally, she hazarded a sideways glance, but it looked like he was just as stunned as she was. What the hell did that mean, then?

The alarm on her phone could not have picked a more perfect time to go off. They both jumped at the sound, and she quickly dug it out of her purse to shut it off. But it gave her an out. “Oh man, I didn’t realize how late it was. I better get home—I’ve gotta get up early for some...work stuff,” she lied, hoping he’d buy it.

His relieved expression told her he did. “I wouldn’t want to keep you, then. Would you like me to escort you home?”

“No, no need—I’ll be fine. The wolves know me.” She was telling the truth this time, obviously, but he took it as the intended joke and chuckled.

“Alright. I...I had a lovely time tonight, Emma; truly,” he said as he stood, and offered his hand to her to help her up.

“I did, too,” she told him as she rose and took off his coat. He caught her hand again when she gave it back, and placed a soft kiss against the back of her fingers; despite the awkward way this evening was ending, the feel of his lips and scruff on her skin still did something funny to her insides that she didn’t want to analyze too closely.

“Take care, love. I’ll see you around.”

“You too.”

And then she was off, practically power walking through town back to David and Snow’s house. How could she slip up like that? And given his reaction, he was probably wondering the same thing. What a pair they made.

Wait—no. No no no. She couldn’t follow that line of thinking; that was how she got her heart crushed in the first place; and him, too, from the sounds of things. No, it was better if she just avoided him for the rest of her stay here. She could manage that, right? Storybrooke was only so big, but she could totally try.

Thankfully, her brother and sister-in-law were already in bed when she got home, so she was able to head to her own without any interrogation. She knew exactly what they would say about what happened, but she just couldn’t follow that optimistic line of thinking.

Because if she were to take that risk, she had a feeling there'd be no coming back from it if things ended like they did with Neal. Nope.

So: avoidance. She could do that.

* * *

She stayed home all of the next day. Snow only gave her a brief interrogation over breakfast, which was kind of astonishing but Emma wasn’t going to complain. Her overall positive assessment of the date seemed to please Snow, but her vague response in regards to seeing him again was met with obvious disappointment. Knowing Snow, there was already a wedding planning binder started for them; guess it would just haven’t go back in the closet for, like, ever.

The rest of the day, she kept busy with farm chores and doing what research she could on ashrays with the books she’d checked out (which didn’t say much) and via the internet (which was wildly contradictory and inconclusive—and sometimes, just freaking weird). Unfortunately, it looked like she’d have to face the library one of these days; but maybe she could hit it when it was just Belle working.

Dinner found her over at Ruby’s on one of her friend’s rare nights off (well, on a night that wasn’t a full moon). She made no mention of the previous night, and Ruby knew better than to try to play wingwolf when they were by themselves.

Then, around sunset, she returned to the hidden nook next to Cruella’s place on the cove. The plan was to do some surveillance and be back home by 11. Her focus switched between the surface of the sea and whatever she was using to pass the time on her phone, because other than some seagulls, there wasn’t much happening.

But then her alarm was going off and she had a massive ache in her back; she’d fallen asleep in her car (city life had made her forget how tiring farm work could be). There wasn’t enough time for her to get back to the farm in time for her change—while she had a small amount of control over staying in bird form, she had none going the other way. Looked like she’d be spending another night here.

As she was texting David to let her know her situation, a brief worry ran through her mind: what if Killian was out again? Until she remembered: he wouldn’t recognize her anyways—duh.

(Actually, though, she was really just concerned that seeing him again would ruin her resolve to stay away.)

She went through her normal routine, toes just hitting the shallows as the transformation took over, and then swam out a bit further. A quick scan towards the Jolly Roger told her that Killian at least wasn’t on the dock, and the light on in the second floor of his little cottage suggested he was in for the night. One less thing to worry about, then.

She repeated her puttering about of the shore, same as the other night. Clouds were rolling in, probably bringing an early summer rain with them, so the waning gibbous moon wasn’t as bright as it had been. It left her reliant on the few house lights that cast a dim glow over the area and the sparse breaks in cloud cover that the moon managed to peek through.

During one such opening, she thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye (one perk to being a bird: excellent peripheral vision). And there was definitely a large ripple in the waves more toward the center of the cove. She poked her head under to try to see what caused it, but couldn’t make anything out.

Deciding to be daring, she moved a bit further out on the water, but not too much; whatever it was, she didn’t know if it was friend or foe yet. She continued her aimless paddling as the clouds floated back over the moon, still stealing glances towards the source of the now-dissipated ripple.

But then she heard the splash of something going back under the surface coming from the opposite direction. Again, she dove under, and this time caught a glimpse of the same semingly colorless, person-shaped thing she’d seen the other night—so there was still a decent chance it was an ashray.

It happened a few more times, but she was never able to get a decent view in the dim light. Honestly, it was a little frustrating—that it was this close but she kept just missing it. Her curiosity needed to be sated now, even if she still questioned Cruella’s sanity (and sobriety).

A few raindrops started to fall, and despite her feathers’ natural water repellency, human instinct told Emma to find shelter under a dock at the end of the cove close to where she was parked (she wasn’t going to tempt fate, or another dragged-out transformation, with Killian’s again). It still gave her a decent view if anything popped up, but given that she had no plans to make contact—and likely wouldn’t be able to carry on a conversation anyway—another night of observation until she inevitably passed out would be fine.

She shook out her feathers as soon as she was under cover and oriented herself to have the best view. The plip-plop of the rain on the sea meant she couldn’t listen for the creature anymore, but it was still thin enough that a bit of faint light was coming through the clouds so she could see.

A few times, she thought she saw something near the opposite shore. And then nothing for a while, especially when the rain picked up. The lack of activity paired with the soothing sound of the drops hitting the wood above her soon had her nodding off, and she was just about to say ‘fuck it’ and crash when a lone beam of light from the moon broke free, illuminating just one spot on the surface.

And a second later, there it was: a dark blue fan-like fin, the same color as the water, with what looked like silvery edges and freckles.

It disappeared back below the surface nearly as quick as it appeared, and the moon hid behind a cloud again, but she still stared at the spot, a bit dumbfounded.

Given her fatigue, it was entirely possible that her eyes were playing tricks on her. But it had seemed so solid and real and, frankly, gorgeous.

It certainly wasn’t a dolphin, and it wasn’t large enough to be a whale. But it was too corporeal to fit any description she’d read of an ashray.

The thing it most definitely resembled was the same thing etched on her skin: a merperson.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning saw Emma shuffling into the diner at what she would usually call an ungodly hour (8 am), but she was too awake to go back to sleep. After she transitioned back, she wrapped herself in a blanket in her car and continued to watch the cove for any sign of what she’d seen last night, but two hours of staring produced nothing. She was starting to think that she’d imagined it, which of course led to other concerns—like, maybe she was destined to take over Cruella’s mantle as the town crazy lady.

(Or maybe her eyes weren’t deceiving her, and there really was a merperson in town. What did she do then? Did it have anything to do with her mark? Did she even want it to?)

Coffee. Coffee would help.

She didn’t let the door close behind her before she plopped on a stool at the counter, ancient bell still ringing. The eternally grumpy Leroy, sitting two seats down, looked her way, grunted, and went back to his bacon and grits.

Thank God for Ruby. A steaming mug was in front of her without having to say a word. “Rough night down at the cove?”

“Not so much rough as weird,” Emma complained before taking a long sip. It certainly wasn’t Starbucks, but it was hot and made from beans—she’d take it. The burn it gave as it hit her tongue and moved through her roused her up just as much as the caffeine did. “I think I may have actually seen something, but I’m also not sure it wasn’t a fatigue-from-milking-cows-induced hallucination.”

“Well, like I said last night, I haven’t seen or heard about anything over there; but who knows? The ocean is a mysterious place. And so is Storybrooke, for that matter.”

“True that.” How many cities could boast that their little ice cream shop didn’t need a freezer because its owner kept things cool with her own ice magic? (Which reminded Emma—she needed to pay Ingrid a visit before this trip was done. Best rocky road ever.) “And how does Dorothy fit into that mix?”

Ruby blushed almost as red as the streaks in her hair. Emma had discovered over their dinner last night that just about any mention of Ruby’s new fling would do that to her—which was probably a good sign that it was going to be more than a fling.

“I’m not sure,” she said quietly, refilling Emma’s mug. “We haven’t gotten to that conversation yet; she was visiting her family back in Kansas this week so she...missed all that.”

It did worry Emma a bit, given her own history, that a significant other of Ruby’s would react poorly to the revelation of her other side. She’d definitely done the whole hiding-it thing for a long time with Neal; probably too long, in hindsight, but there was also the matter of keeping things a bit under wraps so as to not terrify society as a whole. “You’ll know when the time is right,” she assured Ruby.

“I hope so. I really don’t want to mess this one up.”

“From what you’ve told me, she’s nothing like Peter.” Ruby’s first boyfriend had ran away screaming when she transitioned in front of him, literally crying wolf, but the citizens of Storybrooke were well aware of their local pack, even if they didn’t all know that the owner of their favorite diner was a member of it. “I don’t think you’ll have anything to worry about once you get there.”

Ruby gave her an uncharacteristically small smile, compared to her normal wolfish grins; that was how you knew she was actually worried. But it quickly melted away to something a bit more hungry. “And what about you? When are you gonna shake your tail feathers for a certain someone?”

Emma’s defensives immediately went up. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that you went on a date with this town’s sexiest librarian and you didn’t tell me!”

“I’m gonna tell Belle you said that,” Emma said evasively and took another sip of coffee. “And just when did you hear that? You told me you were going to ‘sext Dorothy until I come and/or pass out’ after I left.”

“I can multitask,” she replied, coy as ever. “You really think Snow could keep that quiet?”

“No,” Emma grumbled, slumping back over her mug.

“Well? How was it?”

She mused on it over a long pull of coffee. “I...don’t know?” she finally said. “Like, 90% good?”

“Bad kisser?”

“Ruby!” She glared at her friend.

“Hey, just making a guess. So he didn’t kiss you? Is that it?”

“Rubyyy.” She was whining now.

“Fiiiine,” Ruby sighed back, and turned to grab some dishes that were ready to go out. “But this conversation is not done.”

Emma just groaned again, and lamented the small size of Granny’s mugs. As she drained her second cup, the bell on the door sounded again, and just like in any small town, all eyes turned to it. But only Emma’s eyes lingered after everyone else went back to their meals; at least the newcomer was staring back.

She should have known it would be impossible to avoid Killian here, and the wide-eyed look he was giving her said he was thinking the same.

Ruby, of course, didn’t miss a beat. “Hey, Killian! I’ll be right with you; just sit at your normal seat.” Which, judging from his hesitant steps toward the counter, was the one next to Emma. And even if it wasn’t, his options were to sit next to her, or to Dr. Hopper down at the other end and risk an involuntary psychoanalysis before breakfast.

She didn’t need to look to know that he was scratching that spot behind his ear as he stood hesitantly a few feet away, while she was trying to find something interesting at the bottom of her empty mug.

But then she picked up the faintest scent of leather, paired with that crisp salty-and-spicy smell she’d come to recognize as his, and it immediately brought back the memory of being wrapped in his jacket. It had been a long time since she had felt so warm and safe from a simple gesture like that, which either meant her bar was very low—or, more likely, that she was a fool for trying to ignore him.

It was completely possible to still be friends and keep her distance, though, right? Right. Okay, she could do that. So she took a deep breath, turned on her seat, put a smile on her face, looked up and him, and spoke.

“Hi,” they both blurted out at the same time. Because of course they did. Uneasy smiles quickly melted into easy giggles, as if their mutual awkwardness made everything more relaxed.

He slid onto the stool next to her and stared at the counter for a moment before looking back up at her, a penitent look on his face. “Emma...I just want to say I’m sorry for the way things ended the other night. I apologize if anything made you uncomfortable.”

“I…” she started, not quite expecting that. Her plan had just been to pretend it had never happened, but she couldn’t deny that his was probably a bit better (or at least more mature). “Uh, me too. Things got a bit heavier than I expected, and I know I’m at fault for that. Sorry.”

“It happens,” he shrugged. “That said, I do value that you trusted me enough to share with me; I know how hard that can be.”

No shit he did. “Hey, same; it had to be even tougher for you. Thank you.” She placed her hand over his where it rested on the counter and gave a quick squeeze.

“Did you two fuck or something?”

They both jumped at the gruff—and loud—question from the down the counter, where Leroy was giving a stern look.

“W-what?” Emma stammered, and could feel a flush rising on her cheeks.

“Sure sounds like you did,” he huffed, returning to his bacon.

She was speechless—partly because of the implication that Leroy figured they had; partly because yeah, it really had sounded like that; and maybe a bit because she was now imagining what that would be like. (Probably amazing.)

Killian nudged her shoulder with his and tugged her out of her silent shock. If he’d been embarrassed, he’d clearly gotten over it and was giving her one of those ridiculous dimpled smirks. “He clearly isn’t aware of your first-date rule,” he said quietly.

“Huh?”

“That you don’t pillage and plunder on the first one,” he finished for her, winking.

She snorted a bit. “He must think we’ve been on two or three.”

“Oh? Is that when pirate activities are permitted to begin?”

“Somewhere in there,” she quipped playfully. “You’ll just have to find out.”

“Is that you asking me out?” he queried, almost cheekily.

“Maybe,” she answered coyly—a bit because she was trying to rein in the flirting, and a bit because she was finding it harder to resist the more time she spent with him. Wasn’t this why she was avoiding him in the first place? But now also: why was she, again? That was silly of her.

A voice cleared; apparently Ruby had slipped back behind the counter and was now standing in front of them, grinning wolfishly at their banter. “So, what’ll it be for breakfast, lovebirds?” she asked, winking at Emma.

Emma rolled her eyes, but at the exact same time, they both blurted out their orders. “Pancakes.” And then promptly dissolved into quiet laughter at their synchronicity.

Ruby just turned towards the kitchen to put their orders in, but Leroy had one more thing to say, apparently.

“Well, if you ain’t fuckin’, you should be.” And then he slapped some cash on the counter and left, leaving a stunned and blushing pair behind him. Emma was pretty sure her face had never been more on fire.

Thankfully, Granny came by to refill their coffees, and Emma hoped beyond hope that the old wolf would have some sort of reassurance for them—that Leroy shouldn’t be taken seriously before noon or something. But to her eternal anguish, it was nothing of the sort.

“He’s right, you know,” she said all-too casually, glancing between them and walking off.

Well, now she was completely mortified. And remembered why she was avoiding him.

“Allow me to apologize again,” Killian murmured in an equally embarrassed tone.

“No, you don’t need to,” she sighed. “This is just...Storybrooke. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re just now being subjected to this.”

“And why’s that?”

“Seriously? Look at you!” she exclaimed.

His smirk back made her realize what she said. Dammit, this was why she usually wasn’t part of the world this early. “Oh, fuck me,” she groaned, shoving her face into her hands.

“Are you sure? Sounds like that’s what everyone wants to happen.”

She just groaned even louder and collapsed against the counter. “Let me know when my food gets here; until then, I’m hiding and shutting my mouth.”

“So I can drink your coffee, then?”

“No!” She sat straight up and tugged her mug to her chest, slopping a bit of the scalding liquid on her hand. “Shit,” she cursed as she shook it off; why was Granny’s coffee the same temperature as lava?

(Also: why was this shaping up to be such a terrifically terrible morning?)

“Oh, bloody hell—I’m sorry, love,” Killian said, actually having an acceptable reason to apologize this time. “Let me help you with that.” He grabbed her flailing hand with his right one, and set it in his left palm. Then he took a napkin and dipped it in a glass of water that had been left out, and, leaning forward to inspect, gently pressed it on her burned skin. She let out an exhale; that felt perfect. “Better?” he asked, looking up at her through his ridiculous lashes.

“Yeah,” she breathed, both in relief and because she was still getting used to just how damn blue his eyes were.

He straightened his spine, but his eyes didn’t leave her gaze. And suddenly, the air in the few inches between them was nearly as hot as her coffee.

She wasn’t sure why, but her eyes flitted to his lips—his extraordinary, full, luscious lips, and she could still see a bit of coffee left on them. It’d be a shame to waste it; maybe she should just lean forward and—

“Food’s up,” Granny nearly shouted, and the clatter of their plates on the counter made them jump apart. That was either the best- or worst-timed delivery—she couldn’t decide—but they both thanked Granny nonetheless.

Wordlessly, they busied themselves with their dishes, but still managed to reach for the lone bottle of syrup they’d been left with at the same time. The fingers of her left hand brushed the back of his right, and the light dusting of dark hair there. And for some reason, they just froze like that for much longer than they should have, and part of her kind of wanted to grab the rest of his hand, but he then he pulled it back.

“Ladies first,” he said, smiling politely, but she could see the rosy color on his cheeks. Was this how it was always going to be with them? (And part of her was wondering just how long “always” would be.)

“Thanks,” she replied, and poured a healthy amount of syrup over her hotcakes—or at least, what she deemed a healthy amount. Killian had an eyebrow arched in disbelief when she handed the now-lighter bottle to him. “What?”

He took the container and said, “I’m not generally one to judge, but were you planning on having any pancakes with that syrup?”

“They’re still in there,” she protested, cutting into her stack with her fork. Sure, they were drowning in syrup, and it dripped off when she lifted her first bite, but that was just how she liked it. “You’ve clearly never had great syrup, have you?” she continued as she licked it off her lips, a bit seductively.

He arched an eyebrow and bit into his much drier pancakes, but she saw his eyes go wide as he swallowed. “No, I don’t believe I have.” And proceeded to pour significantly more on.

“Told ya,” she teased, taking another bite. “Granny gets hers fresh, and New England has the best there is.”

“I believe it,” he agreed. “Although I’m still getting used to having something so sweet for breakfast.”

“Oh? What do you usually have?”

“Mackerel, mostly.”

She choked down her next bite. “Fish? For _breakfast_?”

“Pretty much every meal, really. Coastal England,” he explained with a shrug.

It made sense, but she had to wonder: “So...you’ve never had a Pop Tart?”

He chuckled. “Afraid not.”

“Oh my god. I grew up on those. Probably because they were cheap for foster homes, but oh man. So good.”

Conversation continued to flow as they ate, discussing the kinds of foods they had as kids (him: fish; her: Lunchables and Happy Meals), her telling him what schooling was like in the US (he was homeschooled, apparently), and then chatting about favorite movies, since they didn’t get to that the other night (where they discovered they still shared a love of _The Princess Bride_ ).

“If you still need anything for your job, I’m sure there’s something in the library, if you wanted to stop by,” he offered, far from nonchalantly, sneaking glances at her as he carefully scraped up the last of his scrambled eggs (which she guessed he’d discovered also tasted great with maple syrup).

“I just might have to take you up on that,” she replied, equally not casual, especially as she used a finger to wipe a stripe of syrup from her dish and then licked it off, turning to look at him as she did. It was totally a Ruby move and she’d completely blame it on her friend’s terrible influence.

“I look forward to it,” he replied, popping the ‘t’ and letting his tongue poke out to lick his lips; she wasn’t sure if that was just to get any last drops of syrup, in response to her lewd gesture, or both. She was leaning towards the latter...as well as towards Killian.

But just then, her phone lit up with a text from Regina and both eyes instinctively jumped to it. “Oh shit, the time,” Killian cursed, and hopped off his stool in a panic. He quickly pulled some cash from a pocket, tossed it on the counter, and grabbed his satchel from where it had been forgotten on the floor ever since he sat down. “I apologize for dashing out, love, but if I don’t leave now, I’ll be facing Belle’s wrath. See you soon?” It was more a question than a farewell.

“Yeah, you will,” she told him, smiling—at the idea of their next meeting, and at how adorable he was when he was flustered.

“Can’t wait. Until then,” he finished, nodding his head in some sort of bow, and then dashing off. She followed him with her eyes, swiveling on the stool as he left. He gave her one last grin as he pushed the door open, and she released what could only be described as a happy sigh as she watched him head down the stairs and down the street.

“I heard that,” Granny said matter-of-factly, once again filling Emma’s mug.

“No, you didn’t,” she tossed back, defenses going up again.

“You really want to argue with what I did or did not hear?” Granny sassed back; they both knew the answer was a resounding _no_. “I may be old, but my senses are still sharper than yours, sweetheart, and I know what I’m seeing.” Then she leaned in and whispered, “And honey, between us? It doesn’t take extra-strength senses to see it.”

Shit. She was really falling for him, wasn’t she?

(And she wasn’t entirely sure that was a bad thing.)

* * *

As she meandered across town back to the house, she replied to Regina’s message; they hadn’t talked since Emma arrived in Storybrooke so she was looking for an update, even if neither of them were terribly pressed to solve the maybe-mystery and she still had over a week. She texted back that things were going well, and that there was possibly a lead but she had to research it more. She still wasn’t sure she trusted her eyes or brain to tell the truth about whatever she’d seen, but it at least warranted more investigation, regardless of any personal reservations.

And she thanked whatever gods were up there that Regina had texted and not called—while her boss was much more chill than the entirety of Storybrooke when it came to matchmaking (and completely understood Emma in that regard, having her own broken-hearted history), she would have immediately picked up on the chipper tone Emma would have been unable to hide and wondered just how “well” things were going and if “going well” had a name.

It had seriously been ages since she’d felt anything like this—not since Neal, maybe even since her last high school crush (Graham, who had just moved to Storybrooke from Ireland back then; clearly, she had a thing for guys with British Isles accents...but who didn’t?). She just didn’t do this—she’d never let herself, and let alone had met a guy worth pursuing. And while she knew she should be a bit more cautious, for the first time, she was finding she didn’t want to be.

She had to force herself to avoid the library that day, electing for another day of farm work and internet research. She briefly continued her search for info on ashrays, but given what she may or may not have seen last night, she decided she better delve more into merpeople—but that took her to increasingly weird and obscure corners of the internet, and more than once had led her to DeviantArt or some odd piece of fan fiction. (Who the hell wrote mermaid sex?) (And what did _that_ mean in regards to her mark?) (Though, it was _kind_ of hot…)

That left her with basically no choice other than to go there the next day, and she just hoped she could restrain herself enough from either making Killian think she was completely insane, or pressing him against the stacks and kissing the crap out of him.

She didn’t even make it that long before seeing him, though: she, David, and Snow went out for ice cream after dinner and there he was, picking up a pint of rum raisin from Ingrid. Of course, he joined them as they all ate their treats (Emma finally getting her Rocky Road), falling yet again into easy conversation that ended with Snow inviting him over for dinner the next night.

That was the thing with Killian: aside from the awkward end to their conversation the other night, everything was just...easy. It wasn’t forced, and there was no pretense: they just seemed to flow together. It really should have frightened her, especially after that conversation, but she knew that avoiding him was futile, so why bother?

And she just really didn't want to anymore.

* * *

That night, at the cove again, she got a couple more glimpses of the creature. They were brief—the moon glinting off of dark-colored scales and outline of a fin before it disappeared below the surface—but it was enough for her to be almost certain it was a merperson. What to do next, she wasn’t sure. She knew where to start, though; the real challenge would be in not coming off insane.

* * *

The next day, she headed to the library after lunch, a couple coffees in hand.

“Emma,” he greeted immediately, looking up from the computer at the circulation desk. His glasses were slipping down his nose a bit; paired with the huge, dimpled grin he was giving her, he’d never looked more adorable.

But the bulge of his biceps in that barely buttoned shirt sure said something else.

That wasn’t why she was here, though. (Well...not entirely.) “Hey,” she answered. “Thought you might need an afternoon pick-me-up...and maybe might be able to help me find a few more books?”

“Bribing me?” he insinuated as he strode around the desk. “That doesn’t seem your style.”

“Oh? And what is my style?”

He stood in front of her, practically invading her space; his warm scent mixed with that of the coffee and she was pretty sure that nothing had ever smelled as delicious. “You strike me as the type to go after what you want, and to hell with what anyone else says.”

He wasn’t far off, but she probably wasn’t as bold as he assumed. Then again, he definitely brought out a side of her that not even she had seen in years, possibly ever—it was one thing to put on a front and play a role as part of her job; it was a whole other thing to do it genuinely, and was both thrilling and terrifying.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she tossed back coyly. It was an instinctive response and probably a bit cool for where they were at, but those old walls of hers weren’t completely gone, and every now and then, they tried to get in her way.

“You know I do, Emma.” His sincerity tamped them back down for now, though.

She hid her responding smile in her coffee, taking a long sip as she handed Killian his. And she didn’t miss his own genuine, gentle grin as he took it.

“So, you were after marine biology?” he asked after swallowing a sip, but then stared down at the cup, surprised. “Oh—you got my order right!”

“I’m a PI; I notice things,” she responded as they headed to a different part of the library. “And it’s pretty hard to mess up black coffee.”

“You’d be surprised,” he answered, complainingly.

“Oh, no, I’m aware.” She hadn’t added that the reason it caught her attention was because it was her coffee preference, too. “But yeah, anything else we can turn up on sea life would help. And I could probably use some more fantasy books, to help pass the time. It’s not that exciting a cove,” she added, chuckling for reinforcement.

Thankfully, he laughed in agreement. “Aye, I’m sure we can find something for you there. Anything in particular strike your fancy?” he asked as he browsed the shelves in front of him.

“Well, if I’m hanging out by the sea, maybe some more stories like that? Like mermaids or something?” she answered as casually as she could muster.

He was silent as he pulled some books off the shelf and set them on the table in the nook. “Aye, I know we have a few,” he answered solemnly. “However, I’m not sure how accurate they’ll be.”

That took her by surprise—did he know something? “Oh? They’re not? How so?”

He shrugged. “I mean, growing up on the coast, you hear all the old fishermen’s stories, the legends,” he explained, returning to the shelf. “About how you shouldn’t get too close to sirens, how they lure sailors to their deaths. That sort of thing.” He chuckled as he grabbed another volume. “There’s this one story about a group of mermen in Scotland who basically challenge ship’s captains to rap battles. Bloody ludicrous,” he laughed.

She giggled with him, partly because his laugh was infectious and she loved its sound, but also because she knew it might not be as ridiculous as he thought.

“But I’ll see what we have. Maybe there’s something even crazier in those books,” he said with a wink and placed his damaged hand on the small stack he’d gathered. “This looks like everything else that we have; I’ll leave you to it and see what else I can find you for pleasure reading.”

“Thanks,” she called after him, and settled in for some completely unnecessary skimming. Unless there was a tiny breed of whale with really narrow, thin tails, she wasn’t going to get any leads in here. But at least she got to enjoy the view as he walked away.

An hour or so later, she was half glancing at the field guide in front of her and half texting Ruby while sipping her coffee when he came back, more books in hand. “There wasn’t a ton, but I managed to find a few things that should hold your interest.” She perked up as he came in, for multiple reasons, and looked over the spines when he set them on the table next to her. Some were old, some were clearly meant for children, one looked like a romance novel (since she now knew that that was a thing), but there was one that said _Merfolk_ in gold foil that looked promising.

“Thanks! These will definitely keep me entertained.” She was itching to start going through them, but knew how that would look.

Thankfully, he redirected the subject. “How goes it here?” he asked, nodding at what she’d been half-reading.

“Pretty good,” she fibbed. “This one has a lot of good stuff in it—just what I was looking for, really.” (She’d at least had the courtesy to make it seem like she’d looked at the others, rearranging them into a messy stack.)

“Glad I could help,” he grinned back. God, she hated lying to that smile—but then it fell. “I hate to do this, or make it seem like I’m kicking you out,” he started, “but I have to head over to the elementary school in a bit so I’ll need to lock up. But obviously, you can check out anything you need, or come back later.”

“Oh! No, I don’t want to hold you up; let me just check out this one,” she said, adding the field guide to the top of the mermaid books, “and these, and I should be good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah; Snow probably has something for me to do before dinner tonight.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he agreed, chuckling. And without a word, he picked up the stack while she gathered the rest of her things, and walked with her to the circulation desk.

While she was digging out her library card for him, she could tell he was chewing his lower lip in thought. “I need to ask, just because I’m curious: where exactly have you been doing your surveillance for this job from?”

“Oh, Cruella offered me a spot by her place,” she said casually, handing over the dinged-up card. At least that wasn’t a lie, even if it wasn’t exactly what she did. (Though telling him she spent the night skinny dipping might not be the worst thing.)

He scanned the card and handed it back. “Have you actually seen anything?”

“Nothing conclusive. Thus: the books.”

“Fair point,” he conceded, then continued scanning while obviously thinking about something, brow slightly furrowed. “Well,” he finally said, “why don’t you investigate with me?”

He said it casually, looking up with another easy smile, but it made her freeze. Not at the idea of spending more time with him, obviously, but...it could be dangerous.

Because she knew that, come 11 pm, she wouldn’t want to leave, but she wasn’t sure if she was quite ready for any major revelations yet. And what if there really was something supernatural out there? How would he react to even that?

Although...it could be a good way to test the waters, in that regard.

She swallowed, hoping he didn’t notice her momentary nerves. “I could be probably be persuaded to. What’s in it for me?”

He scanned the last book and finalized the checkout in the computer. “Well, you know how comfortable my chairs are, and what my beer selection looks like,” he offered. “I’m right in the middle of the cove, so you’d have a good view of the whole thing.” As if to emphasize his point about a good view, he lifted the stack of books to set them on the counter by her, shifting open the V of his shirt in the process as the muscles of his chest moved underneath it. “And the added benefit of my delightful company,” he finished with his flawless grin.

“Hm, you make a mighty compelling case,” she mused as he walked around the counter. “I think I’ll have to take you up on that.”

“Excellent! That can be our next date,” he stated as she took the books in her arms.

“Next?” she queried, slightly jesting. “I don’t remember asking.”

“You’ll just have to forgive me for going out of turn,” he threw back, stepping into her space and smiling. But then his face became quite serious. “Will you go out with me again, Emma?”

His proximity was overwhelming her senses—his warmth radiated off him, carrying his scent with it, and the earnest hope in those sea blue eyes was all she could see.

She blamed her next action on her momentary intoxication: she rose ever so slightly on her toes and placed a small kiss on the apple of his cheek, where an old scar met a pair of freckles. “Yes,” she said quietly as she went back down on her heels.

His fingers brushed the now-rosy spot where her lips had just been and his eyes were wide in a shocked, bashful expression; heck, she was blushing herself from it, and how bold she was and how adorable he looked.

(She was totally screwed, wasn’t she?)

But of course, now she didn’t know what to say since she’d gone and done that, even if it was such a playground thing to do; it was obviously a huge deal for both of them. Better to get out now before the inevitable panic came. “See you later?” she said, for some reason saying it like a question even though she knew she would.

“O-of course,” he stammered back. “Snow would have my head if I bailed.”

Their shared chuckle set them both back ease. “Yup, she would. Til then.”

“I look forward to it.”

(Definitely, completely, 100% screwed.)

* * *

Somehow, Snow actually didn’t have anything for Emma to do at home other than some quick dusting; she even had the table set already. So Emma took advantage of the free time to dig into the new books.

The kids’ books were quickly tossed aside, cute as they were, but were clearly fiction. The older one was practically written in Old English and therefore indecipherable, so she ruled that one out until she could pick Killian’s British brain about some of it.

The romance novel...just, no. (Although she took a peek...and held onto it for later.)

She finally got to the one that had grabbed her attention earlier. The cover was blue leather embossed with images of a mermaid, merman, and other fish and shells surrounding the golden title. And inside was exactly what she needed: everything about merfolk, from where they lived, to when they were most visible, to how to avoid being drowned by a siren, even reproduction. (Which had her wondering if the author of the romance novel ever saw this, because the artists online sure hadn’t...oh God, why was she becoming an expert on this?)

She fell so deep into her research that she jumped a mile when the doorbell rang. And then it was a mad dash to make sure she didn’t look like a hot mess before heading downstairs; she tended to sprawl on her bed while reading, leaving her hair and clothes all sorts of rumpled. She changed into a not-wrinkled shirt and braided her hair before pounding down the stairs gracelessly and nearly stumbling at the bottom—right into Killian.

He caught her, though, and righted her on her feet. “Hello to you, too, love,” he joked.

“Ah, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine; don’t worry. Just glad I’d already handed off the wine,” he assured her, nodding toward Snow, who stood to the side in the entryway.

Emma cast a glance at her sister-in-law, but she knew what she was going to see: a cheesy, excited grin plastered all over her face at the sight of Emma in someone’s arms.

Oh, right—Killian was still holding her. It felt so comfortable—so natural—that she’d hardly noticed. So it probably looked exactly like whatever Snow was thinking.

He seemed to realize that, too, and gently squeezed her sides before stepping back. Uncertainty on his face told her that he wasn’t sure if he’d crossed a line or not, so she decided to tell him he hadn’t by grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the dining room, throwing a cheeky grin over her shoulder that he responded to in kind.

Thankfully, the rest of the night went by far less eventfully, in that regard, but she didn’t miss the way Snow seated them next to each other. (And then lit candles and dimmed the lights. It was basically a double date.)

(But, where she once thought she’d roll her eyes at something as cheesy as that, she not only enjoyed herself, but found herself looking forward to the possibility of more. That was definitely new. With Neal, she basically tried to keep him as far away from David as possible; whereas he and Killian almost got along too well.)

After dessert, Emma walked Killian down to the pond. The sun was still out, and Killian had already said he couldn’t stay terribly late, but she still wanted to show it to him. Even if she couldn’t explain the entire role of the pond in her life, it felt like a fair trade after he’d somewhat bared his soul on his ship.

They didn’t even talk much; just held hands and sat at the end, watching the sun set. It was simple, casual, slightly romantic, and just...easy. She even went so far as to rest her head on his shoulder; his spine momentarily stiffened at the contact, but then he sort of leaned back into her and she felt him place a kiss in her hair. How she didn’t melt on the spot was a question she couldn’t answer—maybe, in a cosmic play on words, she’d molt later?  

The sun finally finished its descent, and Killian morosely declared that he should go. “But I’ll see you tomorrow night, right?” he asked as she walked him to the end of the gravel driveway.

“Definitely. I’ll bring pizza.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Another brief moment of awkwardness hit—neither was really sure how to say goodbye, and she kind of felt like the ball was in his court, placed there by her earlier peck on the cheek. But then there was his at the pond...so where were they?

He decided. Much like she had earlier, he leaned over her—immediately making her heart race—lightly gripped her shoulders, placed a kiss just to the side of her mouth, and murmured his goodbye. She somehow managed not to dissolve again while giving her own farewell as he started his walk home.

She waited until he was out of sight to head back into the house. That weird twinge in her side was back but she didn’t give a single damn—she was flying and she didn’t even have wings yet.

If Snow or Dave noticed her goofy grin or girlish sigh as she climbed the stairs, they didn’t say anything. And she didn’t even bother to go to the pond for her transformation—when her alarm went off, she just threw open her window, stripped down, and once in her swan form, flew out into the night.

She swooped around town a bit, slowly making her way to Killian’s cove (she knew it had a proper, contrived name, but that was what she was gonna call it now). The wind in her feathers made her feel as free as her heart felt light—the first time in ages she’d been able to say that.

But she was glad for the anonymity of her swan form, too; it was only because of that she felt able to express her joy. If Ruby or Granny were out tonight, they might have caught a glimpse of her flying, but it wasn’t like much could be deduced by a lazy flight pattern, right?

And she just wasn’t ready for it to be public knowledge yet. She trusted Killian, but not many other people or the kind of pressure they might put in them when they were both clearly so damaged by their pasts. Snow and David being aware was unavoidable; the rest of Storybrooke could wait.

She landed gracefully on the surface of the cove, swimming around in some happy little circles before starting what had become her usual rounds. Killian wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and neither was the merperson, but that was okay—she still had time to see them both.

Since nothing was happening and she didn’t want to risk passing out so far from home—even if showing up naked at Killian’s door didn’t seem like a completely terrible idea—she flew home to her pond, waiting for tomorrow.

* * *

The next day at lunch, Ruby tried to sniff out what was different about Emma, because apparently “the only way more endorphines would be rolling off of you would be if you’d had sex, and then I’d be smelling more than just you.”

Emma just rolled her eyes, laughed, and ate her onion rings, content to keep it to herself for the time being.

“I’ll figure it out!” Ruby promised.

“I’m sure you will.”

Ruby leaned over the counter conspiratorially. “Especially if it has to do with all the ones Killian was giving off this morning.”

Emma was equally concerned by that statement and thrilled by that fact.

* * *

Her hands had never been so shaky when holding a pizza as they were after she rang Killian’s doorbell. She took a deep breath to calm herself a bit lest the pizza become a tragic victim of her excitement—and no food as exquisite as pizza deserved that fate.

The door swung open only a moment later to reveal a grinning Killian, dressed in just a T-shirt and some ratty jeans but still looking terribly attractive.

“Hello, love; that smells delicious.” The leer on his face told her he wasn’t just talking about the pizza.

Ever the gentleman, he escorted her through his house—a cute little seaside cottage decorated in dark marine hues, both light and masculine at the same time—and then out the back door to the porch that connected to his dock.

“Well, it’s a nice evening; hopefully that’s amenable for your mystery creature,” he commented as they strode out to the end of it.

Anything she’d read said that merfolk typically only went to the surface once the sun started going down, to reduce risk of being seen. “Hope so,” she agreed, but she also had a feeling she might get a bit distracted.

He was glancing around at the water as they sat down. “This thing—it wouldn’t happen to be a swan, would it?”

Her heart skipped a beat and she froze in her seat. Shit. Did he know it was her? Had David said something? Or Ruby?

“I keep seeing one around here,” he continued casually, unaware of her distress as he opened his beer—and, she reminded herself, he wouldn’t have reason to suspect it might cause her that because he was a normal person, and normal people don’t expect their girlfriends to be the Swan Princess. He finished his observation with, “But I only ever see the one.”

She calmed herself and recovered quickly. “Oh? I don’t think that’s what I’m looking for, based on the description I was given, but what’s so unusual about that? Swans are pretty common.”

“They are, but don’t swans mate for life? So it’s weird to see just one by itself. I kind of feel bad for it,” he added as he opened the pizza box; even though logically she knew better, she still couldn’t tell if he was aware or not that he was actually talking to the swan.

“Well,” she started, choosing her words carefully. Maybe it was better to speak for herself as much as any hypothetical single swan (and, having been on the unwanted receiving end of a few aggressive male swans’ advances, she could speak from plenty of experience). “Maybe she just hasn’t found the right mate yet,” she stated, and then shoved a slice of pizza in her mouth before she could potentially stick her foot in it or reveal too much.

He seemed to catch her drift, though, reading her all too well. “Let’s hope it’s that, then, and she does find her mate someday,” he said, smiling softly.

She swallowed her bite (and her nerves, and possibly her sanity) and added, “I’m sure she will.”

They mostly spent the rest of the evening in companionable silence as they kept a lookout and watched the sunset. The sky put on a spectacular show but nothing from the ocean did, save for a few fish that flopped up and out. (“Is that what you’re after?” he teased. “I sure hope not,” she replied.)

And she’d been right—10:30 came around way too soon for her liking, even if they’d only held hands and drank beer the whole time. But it was just so relaxing and easy and nice; she’d had so little of that and was loathe to give it up.

The alternative—staying and revealing everything—wasn’t an option, though, so she pried herself away with the promise of returning the next night and another quick kiss on the cheek.

But just because she had to leave him didn’t mean she had to _leave_ -leave. She drove to her secluded spot by Cruella’s, let the transformation happen, and headed back out on the water, hoping Killian had returned to the dock.

Alas, he hadn’t, and the house was dark—but he’d left his beer bottle on his chair, and his sweatshirt from earlier. She was chuckling internally (since she couldn’t out loud) at the adorableness of it when she heard a splash from the open water.

Her eyes jumped toward the sound in an instant. There wasn’t anything there, but she saw the ripples from where it had been. She dove under in an attempt to catch a glimpse, but it was too murky.

When she surfaced, it was to the sound of another splash and the sight of another ripple. Damn.

It got quiet for a few minutes, so she picked a dock (that wasn’t Killian’s) to hang out under and watch, hoping for another sighting.

And she didn’t have to wait long until she saw it: the same blue fin from the other night. Her mind hadn’t been playing tricks on her—it really did look like that: a gorgeous, deep blue, with light-colored specks and edges.

It slipped back under quickly and gracefully, but there was no denying anymore that it could be anything but a merperson—likely a man, judging by the size and shape of the fin (per the book).

She was actually kind of happy that Killian wasn’t here to see this; she was glad that she wasn’t completely rocking his world just yet. That bandaid covering knowledge of the supernatural could stay on a little bit longer before she ripped it off.

The merman surfaced (breached? No, that’s whales—she actually had read the field guide a bit, to be polite) a few more times, but then seemed to settle in for the night and everything went quiet.

She went back closer to her car for the night, slept, and woke just before dawn, as usual. There still wasn’t any action, but she’d noticed that Killian had gone out at some point to get the stuff he’d left behind—and she wasn’t at all surprised; she could easily picture him waking from a dead sleep to realize something was untidy.

She chuckled to herself—out loud this time—and drove home.

* * *

The next few nights passed very much the same: she’d bring food, or he’d already have some there (he made excellent seafood alfredo, it turned out) and they hung out on the dock, keeping watch and hanging out until she had to leave, which got harder and harder to do each night.

He started each evening hoping they’d have better luck than the night before, making Emma bite her tongue about the merperson; it became quickly apparent to her that it (he?) only came out later, making her wonder if their chatter frightened him away. It would make sense, if he was trying to avoid being seen. But Emma certainly wasn’t about to put the kibosh on these nights together.

One night, they talked a bit more about their pasts and mementos they carried—for her, some odds and ends from childhood but mainly her necklace and how it was the last thing Ruth gave her (but stopping at that, for obvious reasons); for him, a ring that had been his brother’s and the leather cuff on his wrist that had been passed down his mother’s family. (“Is that why you freaked out about the water on our date? You didn’t want to get it wet?” “Essentially.” That made sense now.)

On another, he pointed out the constellations to her and told how he used them to help navigate when he moved here. He didn’t want to rely on the GPS in the middle of the ocean, and it did cut out on him a few times. “Which one did you follow then?” she asked, laying next to him on a blanket spread out on the dock.

“That bright one there—Deneb,” he said pointing. “It’s part of the Northern Cross, which is also known as Cygnus—the swan.” She tried really hard to ignore the fact that a swan had led him to her.

And on the next, they’d scooted their chairs closer together in an attempt to cuddle; it had gotten chilly again, because Maine. He gave her his hoodie after they finished dinner—pancakes from Granny’s—but she was still shivering, so he just hauled her into his lap. She protested at first, but he really was warm.

And he was close—so close. She could see the golden flecks in the center of his irises and the faint freckles across his nose and the lush pinkness of his lips and then—and then they were on hers, soft and firm within the scratch of his scruff, and tasting like maple syrup. It didn’t last long, but it didn’t need to—it was perfect like that. (But she was also pretty sure her heart was beating so hard that her wings were going to sprout right then and there.)

Leaving was terribly difficult that night—especially because now that the seal was broken, they couldn’t stop kissing. Quick pecks, deeper kisses, a bit of tongue action—she wasn’t entirely sure how she got from the dock to her car without throwing him against every single vertical surface. (She somehow kept it to three.) They were even awkwardly kissing through the open Bug window before she slowly backed out.

But, like each night, she drove to her hiding spot, just barely throwing her car into park and getting her shirt off before the transformation took this time. (She was glad she’d at least gotten that far; there was definitely a night when she was a teenager that she spent tangled in a t-shirt.)

And there was the merman, like he had been the last few nights. He still never fully broke the surface, and eventually disappeared down there, but she did get some glimpses of pale skin that shined in bright contrast to the dark scales in the moonlight.

And now she wondered—just how close could she get to him? (Or should she even try?) She was being paid to, for one, but also to sate her curiosity.

She tried to decide what to do as she drifted off to sleep, but all she could really focus on was Killian—how incredible it was to kiss him, and how amazing other things might be.

* * *

And then she was taking a shower the next day and caught a glimpse of her soulmark; somehow, she’d forgotten about it in the past few days—completely Killian’s fault, she had to assume—but it almost seemed to mock her now.

So no, she decided; she probably wouldn’t try to meet the merman. That sounded like tempting fate, and even if fate was potentially tempting, she was pretty sure she had something even better now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is a bit shorter than the others, but hopefully no one minds! (and hopefully the fact that things FINALLY get M-rated helps!)

It was raining when she showed up on his stoop the next night. The system was supposed to pass over in the next couple hours, but for now, it was storming like a bitch.

A flash of lightning lit the sky just as he swung his door open. “Bloody hell; get inside love,” he exclaimed at the sight of her trying to hold her leather jacket over her head while still wearing it. He ushered her in, then dashed out of sight, shouting behind him, “Let me get you a towel; are you cold?”

“You sound like Snow,” she said, chuckling, as she took off her wet jacket and hung it by the door before following him. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure, love?” He returned with a bath towel in hand and promptly draped it over her, lightly ruffling her hair with a boyish grin, before switching gears and using it to pull her tight and kiss her desperately. It was as if he hadn’t seen her in ages—when, in reality, it had only been since lunch, where he’d greeted her similarly, and farewelled her the same way against the stacks in the library.

“Surely that’s better,” he panted as he leaned his forehead against hers.

“Yeah, mostly,” she breathed back, unsure if her newfound warmth was due to the towel or the way he always managed to heat her up. “My pants will dry eventually,” she added.

“Your pants are wet?” His expression quickly changed, an eyebrow raising with his cheeky quip, but she couldn’t do any more than roll her eyes and blush because she totally walked into that. He smirked, but continued on. “Well, Mother Nature seems to have tampered with my grilling plans; so, would you like delivery or leftovers? There’s still some pasta in the fridge.”

“That sounds perfect.” She’d actually been daydreaming about that stuff and wanted to get the recipe (and then make Snow make it because she wasn’t exactly talented in the kitchen).

“Excellent! Well, I get that warmed up, and how about you pick out a movie? Since I don’t think you want to watch for your creature in weather like this.”

“Nope, can’t say I do; though he might like it—he’s already wet.”

“He?”

Oh, shit—she hadn’t meant to say that. “You know—he, she, the creature; ‘it’ just sounds so impersonal.” Thankfully, he bought that, nodding, and then worked on getting dinner ready while pointing her in the direction of his movie collection.

It was small but good, taking up two shelves on his bookcase. As tempted as she was to pull out _The Little Mermaid_ , she couldn’t pass up their favorite. So she pulled it out, popped it in the DVD player, and flopped down on his plush, navy couch just as he came in with two steaming plates and a beer bottle under each arm.

She stood to take the drinks from him and he set the food on his coffee table, then smiled at the menu screen. “Excellent choice, love.” She just grinned back, gave him a peck on the cheek, and hit play on _The Princess Bride_.

They huddled close as they ate, stealing the occasional garlic-flavored kiss—which she normally thought was gross, but Killian had changed her outlook on a lot of things that had previously been turn-offs (or maybe everything about him was just a turn-on—probably that).

But as soon as their plates were cleared and beers emptied, they were on top of each other like two horny teenagers. Actually, Emma probably hadn’t even been this hungry back then, or ever. It took a lot to distract her from the story of Westley and Buttercup but dammit, Killian was doing it.

It was a collision of lips and chests in the middle of the couch, and then tongues and hands joined in—their mouths were doing some sort of freestyle waltz, her fingers found home in his silky hair, and one of his palms found its way to her breast while the other held her close.

Obviously, it had been ages since she was so affected by someone the way she was Killian. She should have known that would apply physically, too. Maybe it was because she hadn’t gotten any in a while, or maybe it was again just him, but it was like her senses were on overdrive: every brush of his lips against hers, the scratch of his scruff, the heat of his hand on the skin of her lower back where her shirt had ridden up—it all just stoked a fire within, faster than she ever could have imagined.

His hand slipped under the hem of her shirt while hers wandered to do the same. The skin of his sides was slightly cool under her palms as she slid over the soft ripple of his muscles, bunching the fabric as she went, or maybe they just felt that way due to her own rising heat, as if she were about to transform into a phoenix instead of her usual avian form.  

He followed suit, drifting around her back and thumbing her waist, then gently gliding higher and higher, never taking his attention off her mouth or breast as he moved. She was so lost in everything else that she hardly noticed where he was headed until his fingers traveled a bit higher and her entire body jolted.

He’d hit her soulmark. She knew he couldn’t see it with the way her tank top was bunched up over his wrist, and she wasn’t entirely sure if her reaction was voluntary or not, but his touch was like sparks over that spot.

They’d both stilled at her spasm. “You okay, love?” he breathed, resting his forehead against hers.

“Y-yeah,” she stuttered, quickly coming up with a believable white lie. “Just...ticklish there.”

She could hear his grin more than she could see it in the dim light coming from the TV. “I’ll have to remember that,” he teased, brushing a thumb over the spot. She appropriately wiggled, not only to sell it but also because of his unsaid promise of ‘next time’. She didn’t even know where this encounter was going but the idea of more was deliciously thrilling.

They quickly picked up where they left off, moving closer together and their mouths and touch meandering: his lips found her collarbone and pulse point; hers were adoring the freckles on his neck; both his hands were showing equal love for her breasts, one over the shirt, one under her bra; and her fingers had found their way into his chest hair, still under the cotton of his tee but scratching across his pecs and making him jump too, probably when she grazed a nipple.

They took a break at some point, panting against each other while still gently fondling, when Killian asked, “What date are we on?”

“Huh?” That was some odd pillow talk. And why was he trying to make her think when he’d gotten her all riled up?

“How many? What number?”

“Uhh…” She forced her brain cells to work. “Four? Five?”

“So,” he started. “Past the point where pillaging and plundering is acceptable?”

She grinned; he was such a nerd. “Oh, hell yes.”

He didn’t have a chance to do anything but smirk in response before she threw herself back on top of him so hard that they ended up horizontal on the couch, crashing against the cushions as fiercely as the stormy waves against the shore outside. She rolled her hips into his, feeling his erection through her jeggings and drawing a moan from him in the process. (Her gasp was lost in their kiss.)

Time ceased to exist as they grounded together and made out, until finally Killian stammered, “Emma—love—I—”

“I—yeah,” she answered, somehow knowing exactly what he was saying. She sat up and shifted back to sit high on her knees and hurriedly shimmied her pants and underwear down her thighs. He undid the fly of his jeans and lifted his hips to push his clothing down but was fumbling, so she quickly jumped in to help—though she was definitely impatient.

His hardened length sprang free from his boxer briefs, illuminated by the glow of the TV, and she took a brief moment to gaze on it and give it a few strokes that drew a tantalizing groan from him, only making her more aroused.

“If you were only going to touch me, love, then why did you tempt me by getting semi-naked?” he said between breaths.

She tutted. “Clearly I’m not doing a very good job at that if you can still form sentences,” she tossed back.

He lifted his head from where he lay to quirk an eyebrow at her, then in the blink of an eye, sat up, gripped her waist, and pulled her back on top of him. She landed on his chest with a yelp and she could just feel his cock brushing between her legs and against her ass. “Prove it, then,” he whispered in her ear, his hot breath making her shiver. “Make me speechless.”

She didn’t answer; she just pressed herself up, threw him a challenging look, tugged her clothes off of one leg (she didn’t want to take the time for both), and situated herself on his thighs. Still staring at him, she braced one hand on his shoulder, used the other to take hold of his manhood, and slowly slipped down on top of him until he was fully sheathed inside her.

She couldn’t lie—he felt amazing, better than anyone else she’d been with; his relaxed sigh told her things were feeling good on his end, too. They just sat there for a long moment, enjoying the feel of the other; she certainly hadn’t planned for tonight to get this far, but she be a loon if she complained.

Her hand had come to rest on Killian’s firm stomach, and she could feel his deep breaths as it rose and fell. So she began to move in time with the rhythm, rising slowly on her knees and sinking back down, feeling him along every inch of her inner walls. He hummed in pleasure, and eventually, his hands found their way to his hips, and then her neck, bringing her back down for kisses as slow and languid as their movements.

But as his heart rate picked up, so did her pace, and both of their hands wandered back under shirts, craving that skin-to-skin contact that they’d been too thirsty to bother with at first. He gripped her sides while she anchored herself to his with one hand, the other coming to rest above his heart, as they arched into each other with every movement.

Tension had coiled within and was so close to snapping—she just needed a little bit more. Almost as if he could read her mind, his right hand quickly found her clit. “Come for me, darling,” he panted, clearly almost gone himself, if his stuttered motion was anything to go by.

And a second later, she did, finding her release with a whoop, her head thrown back. He was quick to follow, shouting as his release spilled into her (thank God she was on birth control, since that was another thing they hadn’t stopped to think about—he just had that effect on her).

They let the waves of their pleasure wash over them as Emma collapsed against him and he held her tight. She honestly couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, that sex had been so good; maybe he was a literal sex god? Because how else would she find someone like that here in boring old Storybrooke?

“That...was…” she started to murmur, but didn’t have a term to describe how incredible it had been.

“Yeah,” he agreed, clearly out of words himself. “You did indeed render me speechless.”

“Told ya,” she answered, then placed a kiss on his cheek before shifting off of him. “I’ll be right back.”

She excused herself to the bathroom, cleaning up from their tryst and righting her clothes, for what it was worth. She caught a glimpse of her soulmark as she adjusted her top and quickly hid it back away.

Because she knew she was right: Killian was definitely better than some hypothetical soulmate, and there was no way she’d let him go.

* * *

After their hurried tryst, Emma and Killian curled back up on the sofa, continuing to steal kisses through the rest of the movie, and then a bit after. (There may have also been some mild groping when the topic of “perfect breasts” came up.)

She’d never cursed Tchaikovsky more than when her alarm went off, like it always fucking did, though even earlier tonight so she could get home. Couldn’t she have one damn night where she didn’t have to rush off?

“Stay?” he murmured after she shut off her phone; it was both a question and an invitation that she wanted to answer positively. “I’m sure David can handle the hens in the morning.”

She had to bite back a laugh—that was the lie she’d told him to justify her departure, so at the very least she could push blame off on her brother and not her Odette thing. But she knew she wasn’t ready to reveal that just yet. Giving him her body was one thing; transforming in front of him felt like so much more. She’d eventually get there...but not tonight.

And she was fervently ignoring the voice in the back of her head that told her there was only another week in her assignment, so she’d have to decide on that sooner rather than later.

“He likes to think he can. Snow is actually the bird whisperer.” (No one tell Snow she revealed the truth, even if he wouldn’t realize the extent of it.)

“Then let her help,” he bargained, smiling; ugh, that dimpled grin of his was testing her resolve. But she couldn’t let it this time.

“He’s got my house key. I’ll get locked out.” She hates how quick the lie came to her, but she’d had to become adept at them; it was probably why she was able to recognize them in other people so easily. “I really wish I could,” she assured him.

He gave her an almost sad smile that made her feel even worse. “Me too. At least let me escort you out?”

“Of course.”

That, obviously, meant making out against the drivers’-side door for 10 minutes, until she really had to leave. He gave her one last kiss before she closed the door, and he watched her back down his gravel driveway with a soft expression she could only describe as wistful; it definitely matched how she felt to be driving away.

Someday, she’d be able to let him in fully. She just needed a bit more time.

That’s something that wasn’t on her side at the moment, though. She had planned on leaving early enough to get back to the farm, to avoid any potential merman run-ins, but she wouldn’t be able to tonight—while swans had terrific wingspans, they paid for it with their short, stubby legs, which weren’t exactly conducive to driving.

So she pulled up to her familiar hidden parking space by Cruella’s and went through the usual routine. But tonight, she was going to make sure not to venture too far out.

Of course, that idea went completely out the window as soon as she flew out of the Bug’s and saw Killian sitting on the end of his dock. It was still cloudy, but the rain had stopped, leaving everything a bit damp and a wet chill in the air.

She shivered and shook out her feathers as she landed on the surface of the cool water. It was the kind of cold that was quick to get to your bones, even with her downy coat for protection. She’d need to keep moving to stay warm, and to avoid thinking longingly of the hot bath she could be having at the house.

So she started what had become her normal circuit of the cove, but trying to be a bit more aimless than normal in case Killian was watching. Not that he had any reason to suspect anything, obviously, but for her own peace of mind.

She couldn’t help the way her heart raced as she got closer to him, though, and their earlier hookup played on repeat in her head. It was like she had swan brain about it: how she was unable to shake the vision of him underneath her, and how amazing it looked and felt.

Despite what had been insinuated in earlier conversations, she really didn’t move that fast, usually, unless it was a one-night stand. But it had just felt so...right with Killian. She wasn’t sure if “organic” was the right word, but something along those lines. Being with him like that just felt natural.

She was still a few docks away from him, but she noticed that she’d already caught his attention. If she could smirk, she would have, so she had to settle for the smug knowledge that she was constantly on his radar.

But would she always be? The thought came unbidden. She was only going to be in town another 5 days; then what? She had to get back to her job in Boston, while his was clearly here. And she couldn’t ask someone to move in with her after less than two weeks of even knowing each other—as whirlwind as their relationship had been thus far, she wasn’t about to take it to reality show levels.

Would they drift apart, slipping back into their past habits? Was this just a fling?

Deep down, she knew Killian wasn’t like that, but she’d been burned enough in the past that it was her natural initial reaction. She took a deep breath and dove below the surface, partly to continue the swan impression but also to calm down.

When she surfaced, she was close enough to Killian to see that he was watching her with something of a wistful smile. “Hey there, pretty bird,” he called out. She snorted at the line—how was it he was so smooth with everyone else but then resorted to the most stereotypical line for waterfowl?

But she could at least make him think it worked, and swam toward him like she was looking for a handout. When she reached the end of his dock, she looked up at him expectantly.

He chuckled. “No, I don’t have any food, love; and I highly doubt I have anything that’s good for you.” He was right on that count, but she still huffed in protest. “Besides, wouldn’t you rather eat with a swan friend than boring old me?”

 _No_ , she wanted to scream at him, but had to settle for some aimless paddling.

“I know how you feel—waiting so long for the right mate,” he continued. “I thought I had once, but then I lost her; is that what happened to you?”

Only Killian would monologue to a swan—or, at least, he was the only one she knew where it would be a one-sided conversation; she’d had some in-depth chats with David and Snow at night on occasion.

“Or is it like Emma said, and you’re just waiting for the right one?” A bashful smile took over his face, and he looked down. “I think I might finally have,” he added quietly.

Her heart leapt a bit, making her fluff out her wings involuntarily. Part of her felt a bit guilty that he didn’t know he was telling her his feelings, but the rest of her was quickly slipping into freak-out mode, like Ariel holding onto the “he loves me” petal in _The Little Mermaid_.

“At least, I sincerely hope I have. She’s brilliant and fierce and lovely—much like you, actually.” She had to bite back her snort at that. “But I don’t want to push too quick; we’ve both been burned and I don’t want to scare her off. You know what I mean?”

She did, of course—she shared some of those concerns, too. Having a heart broken because someone cheated was nothing compared to having your love die.

“And I’m worried that she won’t fully accept me…” he started, trailing off. Well, that was absurd—she already did.

“...once she learns my secret,” he finished.

Secret? What? She froze. Oh, shit.

“But don’t tell her just yet, okay?” he added conspiratorially, with one of his trademark terrible winks.

But it wasn’t cute this time—it was practically terrifying. What kind of secret was so big that he could tell a freaking bird but not her?

It was just like with Neal—so many people knew he was with Tamara; Emma was just the last to find out.

She couldn’t let that happen again. Panic turned to anger turned back into panic and she took off, not looking back. Her flight path was probably erratic but she didn’t care—she just had to get out of there.

At some point, she realized she was back home, and landed with a crashing splash on the pond. But even being in familiar waters wasn't all that soothing. How could she have let this happen again?

She spent the rest of the night playing over everything from the past several days, looking for any sign of something amiss, but couldn’t come up with anything—or had she chosen to ignore it? Had her infatuation blinded her?

Her mind wrestled with itself all night, in between occasional spots of restless sleep. All her thoughts were a jumble, except for one thing: she felt betrayed.

Dawn came, and so did the accompanying tingle. But she didn’t want to face the day (nor deal with the logistics of both her clothes and car being on the other side of town). So she somehow refocused all her mental powers on holding off the transformation.

The tingle eventually slowed, and then faded altogether as the sun crested the horizon. If her mind had been in any other headspace, she would have realized the feat she’d just accomplished, but today, she just needed this escape. Swans didn’t have to deal with people like Emma did, and she was in no shape to do that today...or ever again, possibly.

How bad could life as a swan be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!! 
> 
> For those anxiously awaiting reveals...almost there! I promise!


	6. Chapter 6

By that night, Emma could find a few things to complain about being a swan—mostly food-related—but it was better than properly dealing with people and whatever fallout there was from Killian’s revelation.

(A small, guilty voice told her she should hear him out, or at least give an explanation for the way she was ghosting—swanning?—him, but her wounded heart loudly told it to shut up.)

Snow had come down to check on her that morning and was visibly upset when Emma told her things hadn’t gone well at Killian’s (but assured her it was nothing _that_ bad; as bitter as she was toward him at the moment, everything they did had been completely consensual.)

Snow did also ask if she planned on transforming back soon; Emma just told her she wasn’t sure.

The pair of ducks who were nesting nearby were definitely a bit confused by her presence during the day, but no one else seemed to pay her much mind—until now, of course.

Heavy footsteps made their way down the dock that could only belong to David; she turned and there he was, slightly illuminated by the quarter moon.

“Did you bring me food?” she called out as a greeting.

“Yeah, but you won’t like it,” he answered, then took a seat on the end of the dock and dumped a bowl of stuff onto the water.

She swam up and took a bite, then gagged. “Ugh, kale? Are you trying to kill me? Where are the onion rings?”

“Fried food is terrible for birds. And so is cheese,” he added quickly before she could protest further.

“Fine,” she muttered, while begrudgingly eating; hunger was winning out and swan instincts went for the greens and corn he’d brought down.

“So you stayed a swan all day?” he asked, sounding curious but also like he was getting at something.

“Yeah,” she answered between bites. “Why?”

“Have you ever done that before?”

“Nope.”

“Can I ask why you did today?”

“Can I eat without a damn interrogation?” she barked.

“No.”

“Ugh!” He was such a brother. “I just...wanted to see if I could,” she told him. It wasn’t the whole truth but it was certainly a tiny part of it—she’d never tried to hold it off indefinitely.

“You know I don’t buy that,” David scolded. “Does this have anything to do with the panicked phone call I just got from Killian?”

She nearly choked on a corn kernel. “What?”

“He just called me, freaking out, because you didn’t come over and he didn’t have a way to get in touch.”

“Oh. Guess I lost track of time.” She promptly found the biggest piece of kale there to start eating.

“I told him you got caught up with some work stuff, but Emma, what’s going on? I thought things had been going good with him, but now this, and you’re here, and Snow told me what you told her this morning. What happened?”

She chewed over her food and her words. As much of a sap as David was when it came to love, it was at least possible to have a rational conversation with him about it (well, more than it was with Snow).

Finally, she swallowed and said, “I don’t think Killian is who I thought he was.”

David tilted his head in confusion. “What makes you say that?”

She sighed and told him what had happened last night—not delving into all of what went down on their date, obviously (she didn’t want to scar her brother), but what Killian had unwittingly told her later. “I can’t…I can’t go through that again, David. I can’t take the chance I’m wrong about him.”

Depressingly, he had no response; he just stared at the surface, face scrunched in thought. His silence was disconcerting to say the least.

“What, no offers to go kick his ass? No brotherly tidbits of advice?” He was usually so quick to jump into action with stuff like this; she’d been pretty positive she was going to have to bail him out of jail after Neal broke up with her.

“Emma,” he started with a sigh; oh no—he was using his dad voice. “I get why you’re worried, but I don’t think that whatever Killian isn’t telling you is anywhere near on the level of Neal. He’s just not like that.”

“Do...do you know?”

“No, I don’t; but I know Killian. He’s a good one, Em.”

That little guilty voice just got a bit louder; maybe she had overreacted—but could anyone actually blame her, given her past?

“And Emma?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s not like you don’t have some secrets of your own, too,” he lectured, nodding at her—or, more specifically, her present form.

And now the guilty voice was screaming at her, because he was right. (And she always hated when he was; at least he wouldn’t be able to see her pouting.)

Sensing that the conversation was over, David said goodnight and left her with her thoughts, of which she had many. On the one hand, she knew her reasons for keeping her feathered side hidden were completely understandable, given her personal experience and society at large.

So wasn’t it fair to assume that whatever he was hiding, he had an equally good reason for it?

What could be so big that he had to hide it, though? A kid? Addiction? Was he Superman or something? If it was the first two, he had to know she’d be understanding; if the last, well, okay, she could see the need for secrecy there.

And it wasn’t like she had never planned on fanning her feathers for him; she just didn’t know when would be the right time, if ever.

But by the time dawn rolled around, she knew: she had definitely jumped to conclusions, and owed him the chance to explain.

She perched on the dock for her transformation, which thankfully happened normally—she’d been kind of worried that because she held it off once, she might not change back. It was a bit more painful than usual, but she was pretty sure her shaking afterwards had more to do with being naked in near-freezing temperatures than that.

So she made a mad dash into the house—and the hot bath she knew would be waiting for her, bless Snow—while starting to plan her next move: how did she apologize and give him a second chance without letting him know that she knew something was up?

Not for the first time, she thought to herself: _what the hell is my life?_

* * *

Cautiously, and armed with fancy coffee from the little cafe in town, she entered the library later that day.

She’d used her bath earlier to help her decide on a plan of action. In addition to being her designated swim spot in the colder months, it was also a really good way to unwind and let her mind sort things out. Usually, it involved one of her cases; almost counterintuitively, the steam from the water could sometimes help her see things a bit clearer, or at least from a different angle. She’d never have caught that runaway mini-giant otherwise. (Yeah, it was an oxymoron, but apparently he was the runt of his family and only appeared to be taller than average. Nice guy, though, and his brothers were happy to be reunited.)

Anyways, it also helped her realize that, when it came down to it, nothing between them had really changed. Physically, it had, yeah, which she had absolutely no complaints about; but there were already a lot of things that they didn’t know about each other. Whatever this unsaid thing was was simply part of that. And rather than being upset about it now, she just wanted to get to the point that he felt comfortable enough to share it—and she really wanted to get there herself, too.

As usual, he was behind the circulation desk when she walked in. At the sound of the bell, he looked up over his glasses, which, like always, were adorably slipping down his nose. But there wasn’t the usual face-splitting grin that accompanied her visits.

“Hi, Emma,” he said, slowly and guardedly. Which, of course, just made her feel worse, but that was why she was here.

“Hi. I, uh, brought you coffee, again,” she stammered as she approached the desk. (She clearly wasn’t off to a good start.)

“Uh, thanks,” he said, and scratched behind his ear before taking the proffered beverage. But he didn’t take a sip; he just held onto it, staring at it for a moment, before starting, “Look, about the other night—”

“No, it’s—”

“I apologize if—”

“I’m the one who needs to apologize,” she blurted, making him pause. “I’m sorry I bailed on you last night with no explanation. The truth is…” She had to take a deep breath before she launched into the apology she’d decided on earlier. “I got a little freaked out. It’s been a long time since I did...that...and it actually meant something, and was with a guy I liked. And I’ve already told you how that ended, so I kind of got inside my own head about things, even though I know you’re so much better than him. So I know what it probably looked like, and for that, I apologize; it wasn’t anything on your end—it was all on mine. I shouldn’t have doubted you like that, and I’m really sorry.”

She had to take another breath there because she’d basically blurted it all out. She wasn’t sure how he would react, and to her dismay, he didn’t at first—he seemed uncharacteristically speechless, actually.

“I...uh...you like me?” he finally stammered.

Immediately, she blushed. “I figured that was pretty obvious,” she said as the heat rose on her cheeks. They’d had sex, for crying out loud—amazing, soul-satisfying sex—and here she was, feeling like she was back in fifth grade.

“It’s nice to get confirmation,” he replied, smirking, before turning serious. “I appreciate your apology, though I certainly wasn’t expecting it; I know how things can get in the heat of the moment and was worried we’d moved too fast. So, thank you for telling me all that,” he effused, placing his hand over hers where it rested on the counter. “This may be a bold proclamation,” he said, swallowing, “but I hope I can rebuild your trust enough that you can forget all about that arse and never have reason to doubt intentions again.”

He was telling the truth. She gave him a tiny smile, and told him, “I hope so, too.” Which was possibly an even more daring idea, coming from her.

It wasn’t a declaration of love or undying devotion, or anything sappy like that. But for both of them, it meant they were looking ahead, and that was something she knew neither of them had done in ages.

The air between them grew heavy, but not with passion—just with a deep sense of understanding and affection. To make the moment perfect, she rose up on her toes, leaned onto the desk to grab his open collar, gently brought him close, and kissed him softly but solidly. The edge of the counter cut into her stomach but she really didn’t care, and hardly noticed when she was kissing such a fantastic man.

(Who was also an amazing kisser, by the way, so it’s not like she would have noticed anything short of the building catching on fire—which, if they didn’t let up, might happen as the heat rose between them.)

Reluctantly, they broke apart for air and she fell back on her heels, licking her lips. His eyes were closed, those long lashes lying against his cheekbones, as an almost silly little smirk took over his mouth. He was so damn cute she couldn’t help but giggle a bit.

He made a production of blinking and coming back to reality at the sound. “What?”

“Nothing. You’re just adorable.”

She expected a protest, but he just replied, “Damn right, I am.” And then they both giggled, since that was apparently their mood; damn, now they were both acting like school kids. (But she couldn’t help it if this mini-make-up had her feeling as excited as one.)

“So, to make up to you for last night, can I take you out tonight? There’s a little place across town that isn’t Granny’s,” she offered.

He smiled, but it faltered. “I’d love to, but today...well, it’s Liam’s birthday.” His expression sat on the border of apologetic and mournful. “So I always go for a sail, in his memory. You’re more than welcome to join me, of course.”

She quickly berated herself for assuming he’d be free; how self-centered was that? Especially when he had something like that going on. She’d definitely been spoiled by his attentions the past few days. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose like that, especially with my weird curfew and everything,” she answered, trying to cover up her disappointment. “How about tomorrow night, then?”

“Are you sure? I can postpone.”

“No; go. That’s important. Just be safe; Maine weather blows.” Literally—the forecast called for a storm tonight, with potential for freezing. In May. What the hell?

“I’ve noticed,” he chuckled. “And I will. But then: definitely tomorrow.”

“Good. I can’t wait.” She didn’t normally admit stuff like that but she was on a roll with it today; may as well continue.

“Me either, love.” Without another word, he strode around the counter to pull her into his arms for another deep kiss.

(And maybe a few more.)

Until he pressed his forehead against hers and sighed. “As much as I’d love to carry this on, Snow’s class will be here sooner than I’d like—”

“—And we’d never hear the end of it,” she finished.

“Well, I was thinking more along the lines that I’m supposed to be giving a literature lesson rather than a biology one,” he quipped.

She snorted; what a nerd. “Yeah, that too. Okay, until tomorrow.”

“Until tomorrow,” he echoed, then gave her another soft kiss.

“Oh, wait!” she nearly shouted, just remembering something. “Give me your phone!”

He tilted his head to the side in curiosity as he did as asked, pulling his phone from his back pocket and handing it over. She tried not to think about the fact that it had been in such close proximity to his perfect rear end as she plugged her number into it and hit the dial button. “So you don’t have to go through David again.”

“That’s helpful,” he commented. “We probably should have done that a while ago.”

She shrugged. “Better late than never?” They’d been seeing each other so often that they didn’t really need it.

“Definitely.” He glanced at the time when she handed the device back. “But now we really might be cutting it close with Snow.”

“Okay; I’ll run. Have fun, be safe, et cetera. Bye!” she blurted, placing one last kiss on his lips before making a dash for the door.

And it was just in time, because she heard a gaggle of voices, including Snow’s, approaching as soon as she got outside and went to hide in the alley next to the building. Obviously, she wasn’t ashamed of anything; she just didn’t need that pressure hanging over her. So she waited there until she heard the door shut after the last student went in, while she programmed Killian’s number into her phone (and added a blue heart after his name, just to make this morning full-on preteen girl).

Once the coast was clear, she pocketed her phone and headed back down the street, on her way to Granny’s for some actual food; she was still starving after the last day or so in swan mode, despite the entire box of Pop-Tarts she ate that morning.

She hadn’t made it a block when her phone started buzzing, so she pulled it back out; Regina was calling. That wasn’t really surprising; they’d only exchanged a couple brief texts over the last couple days, and she was due back in a few. She answered with a cheery “Hello!”

“Emma? Is that you?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Okay, just wanted to make sure no one had stolen your phone.”

“Why?”

“You’re so...cheery.”

Ugh, this was exactly why she had avoided talking to her on the phone last week, wasn’t it? “Am I not allowed to be in a good mood?”

“Oh, no, you are; it’s just...a change. I told you you needed a vacation!”

She chuckled. “Yeah, you were right. Anyway, what’s up?”

“Just wanted to check in on the assignment. Did you find anything?”

“Yeah, actually; turns out there’s a merman here.”

“Wow, really? In Storybrooke?”

“Apparently. I haven’t talked to him, but anytime I saw him, it matched the description. Not sure what else it could be.”

“Well, that’s good enough for me. Let Cruella know and then enjoy the rest of your trip, then.”

“Will do. How are things there? Anything more on your case?”

“Eh, nothing good. Actually, maybe you should get in touch with that merman—we had a mermaid go missing the other day.”

“Shit, really?”

“Yeah. She’s married to a human and he came in to report it. And guess who he works for.”

“Gold.” It made her stomach turn; why couldn’t they nab this guy? “When I come back, I’m helping you on that.”

“We’ll see. Only if we can do it safely; I’m not risking you, or anyone else.”

Ugh, she hated when Regina was rational about these things. “Gotcha. Anything else?”

“Nope, unless you want to bring me back some Granny’s lasagna.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Alright. See you Monday.”

“Bye.”

She wasn’t going to think about how few days she had left here as she traipsed across Granny’s patio and into the diner; she was just gonna get some food, run by Cruella’s, wrap up this assignment, and then enjoy the rest of the time here with Killian, and they’d figure out what came next when they needed to.

That’s what she was assuring herself as she went through the door when she collided with someone—someone covered in fur.

“Emma, darling! So sorry, I didn’t see you there!”

Speaking of the devil, there she was. Emma seriously wondered how many small, adorable creatures had to die to make the black-and-white jacket Cruella was wearing right now. (Though, given how well it matched her hair...ew, no, not finishing that thought.)

“It’s okay; I wasn’t—looking,” Emma tried to apologize, but Cruella wrapped her up in a bear (or some other furred animal) hug.

“Nonsense! Now tell me, dear, how goes the research? Have you had any luck out there?” Thankfully, she let go so Emma could talk.

“Uh, yeah—there’s a merman out there,” she said quietly, almost whispering to avoid being overheard.

“Oh, really?” Cruella clapped her hands and Emma was pretty sure they’re were stars in her eyes, she was so excited. “Oh, that’s so exotic! Oh, my friends will be pleased indeed! Thank you so much, darling!” And she promptly took Emma’s face in her hands and placed a way-too-wet peck on her cheek.

“Uh, my pleasure,” Emma answered, semi-stunned by what just happened.

“Well, I must be off, but thank you ever so much, pet! Ta-ta!” And she sashayed out the door, leaving a cloud of expensive perfume and a bit of shedded fur behind her.

Emma just gaped for a moment, staring into space at that turbulent conversation, before forcing herself to move. She was still baffled as she slid onto a stool, but shook her head to bring herself back to the present. God, Cruella was weird; but at least that was over.

It must have been that kind of day, because Ruby practically stumbled out from the back looking just as bewildered. She stopped in front of Emma, focused on some unseen thing below the counter, before looking up at Emma and blinking. “When did you get here?”

“Just now,” Emma answered slowly.

“I wasn’t just awkwardly staring at nothing for, like, 5 minutes, was I?”

“No; you just came out from the back.” It wasn’t like her to be so out of it—even hungover Ruby was more alert than this. “Rubes, are you okay?”

“I...maybe? I honestly don’t know.” It almost looked like Ruby was shaking, and it had nothing to do with her platform high-heels—though they probably didn’t help.

Emma was getting seriously worried. “Did something happen? Is Granny okay? Dorothy?”

At the mention of her girlfriend, Ruby immediately perked up and bit back a grin. “Just—come here.” And immediately, she took off through the dining room for the secluded back part of the restaurant, beckoning Emma to follow.

Emma almost had to run through, nearly knocking over a waitress as she went, but it was quiet in the back near the stairs to the bed & breakfast upstairs. So whatever this was, it was big, and likely supernatural.

“Okay, what is it?” she asked. “Did you shift in front of Dorothy?”

“Yeah, but it’s the part that comes before it that’s a bit more important.”

Emma’s jaw dropped. “How can anything be bigger than that? That’s making yourself so vulnerable!” It may have been personal experience talking, but she didn’t want to see Ruby’s heart pummeled like hers had been, even if it was well on its way to letting someone in again.

“Well, it’s because...it’s a...soulmate...thing,” she stammered, looking down at the tile floor and appearing somehow small, despite the way she towered over almost everyone.

Wow—soulmates? Emma knew Ruby had a mark—a cyclone-like swirl low on her hip—but she’d never expressed any desire to find them. There had been a few serious relationships since her first boyfriend, but they all fizzled out after a few intense months. Her werewolf status definitely had something to do with that, same as Emma’s stuff, but it was still a little surprising.

“Are-are you sure?”

“Completely. You know how my mark looks like a tornado?” Emma nodded. “Well, we were starting to get down to business when she saw it, and told me how she survived one when she was a kid. And she’s a meteorologist now; honestly, I should have seen it.”

“What’s hers?” Emma had to ask.

“That’s the other freaky part,” Ruby said, and leaned in. “It’s a wolf.”

Emma’s breath hitched.

“I kind of had to transform after that.”

“Yeah...wow. How did she take it?”

“She was surprised a bit, at first, which I expected, but then she was totally fine. Just pet and cuddled me. And then I shifted back, and reminded her how I’ve always been a wolf in bed,” she concluded with a wink and a grin.

Emma snorted and relaxed a bit. The weight of the revelation was still settling on her, so a moment of levity was much-needed. But it was kind of a huge deal. She was thrilled for her best friend, obviously, but there were also other implications—personal ones that she didn’t really want to address, but knew she should. “So...for people like us…”

“The marks _are_ us, I think.”

That’s what she was afraid of. Something in her stilled, or started taking up a solid presence in her stomach, or maybe that ice cream from the other night had a freezing spell in it—whatever it was, it was stopping her in place as that epiphany washed over her.

Somewhere out there was a person for her with a swan-shaped mark somewhere on their body.

And, more than likely, it was a merman.

(Quite possibly the one that was here in Storybrooke right now.)

Shit. She needed to think about this. And probably a stiff drink.

“Hey—you okay, Ems?” Ruby’s voice jolted her from her haze; she blinked comically and saw her friend watching her with concern in the set of her brow but understanding in her eyes. She knew just how much she’d rocked Emma’s world.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m—I’m alright,” she tried to assure her, but it was hard to be convincing when she didn’t believe it herself. “I’m just...so happy for you!” she redirected; at least that was true. And she promptly wrapped Ruby in a hug, hiding the conflict on her face as she buried it in Ruby’s shoulder.

Ruby returned the embrace, giggling, but then Emma heard her start sniffing. Uh oh.

“Emma, why do you…?” She sniffed again. “What’s that…?” She practically inhaled Emma’s hair. “Oh my God! You and Killian had sex!” she whisper-yelled.

“Holy crap, quiet down!” Emma replied as she stepped back. “How the hell could you tell that?”

“I told you—I can smell him on you. It’s faint, but it’s there. I’m guessing...two nights ago?”

“Jeez, seriously?”

“Is that a yes?”

Emma let out a long sigh. “Yes.”

Ruby squealed. “Get it, girl!”

“You did not just say that.”

“I did and I have no shame. You banged Killian Jones! Be proud!”

Emma rolled her eyes, but could feel the blush rise in her cheeks; okay, she was a little proud that she nabbed the hottest guy in Storybrooke. (And the sweetest, and the most sensitive, and the most caring...she could go on.) But she was a little too emotionally unsteady right now to boast.

With impeccable timing, Granny called for Ruby from the kitchen; there was no doubt she heard their entire conversation and knew Emma needed some alone time. Ruby made her promise to give details later before dashing back to work, leaving Emma to wander back to her seat.

She was in a kind of daze through her meal—she knew she ate, but couldn’t remember what. And at some point, she realized she was driving the Bug up the Nolan’s long driveway, but had no idea how she got there from Granny’s—which was actually really worrying, but thankfully, she hadn’t gotten into an accident.

The rest of the afternoon, she spent either seated on the dock, staring at the slowly rippling water, or in her room, gazing at the cloudy gray sky. Her thoughts just kept running on the same monotonous loop:

She now knew more about her soulmate than she ever had before. For most people, that realization would be thrilling, but for Emma, it somehow felt like a letdown.

Because if her soulmate was a merman, then that meant it wasn’t Killian.

She knew, she knew that she shouldn’t even have hoped he was. They’d barely known each other for more than a week, for fuck’s sake. And normally, she didn’t even have any soulmate-related thoughts, let alone entertain them, despite their first date conversation.

No—it was hitting her now because now, it was out of reach. How effing cliche of her.

But on the other hand, she didn’t want some higher power deciding her life anymore than it already had. Yeah, the whole soulmates thing worked out for Snow and Dave, and was looking like it would for Ruby, but—she wasn’t them. If she was going to find her true love or whatever, she wanted to find it on her terms, like she might be doing with Killian.

Of course, there was no guarantee things would last with him; he still had that secret, and she’d been burned enough in life to get too terribly optimistic. And there was also no saying that she couldn’t find something equally great with this mystery merman. She could be denying herself further happiness by avoiding him. And she’d always felt drawn to merpeople, even before she knew they were real; maybe that was the reason for it.

But if he wasn’t the one here in Storybrooke, then who knew how long it could take to find him? And she couldn’t bear to hurt Killian like that, even if it freed him to find his soulmate. And the thought of Killian being with someone else made her stomach turn, so she was kind of back to square one.

The _but_ s and _what if_ s and _fuck no_ s just kept repeating until she was tired of hearing them over and over again. But she couldn’t seem to shut it off. She knew she should probably talk to David or Snow, but it wasn’t like they’d say anything that she wasn’t already thinking.

She faked her way through dinner, participating enough in the conversation that they wouldn’t notice she was mentally preoccupied, and then took a shower, hoping it might clear her head. It didn’t.

Once she had dressed, she flopped on her bed and grabbed the first book off the stack on the nightstand, hoping to get lost in a story. But of course, it was the merman romance novel. Still, she gave it a try, and there was something weirdly hot about it, but it really wasn’t helping her at the moment.

So instead, she tossed it back aside and dug out her old copy of _Order of the Phoenix_ to read; if Hogwarts couldn’t distract her, then nothing could; thankfully, it did.

It was dark outside—eerily so due to a brewing storm—when she got to one particular line from Dumbledore.

_“We can’t choose our fate, but we can choose others. Be careful in knowing that.”_

She was well aware of the first part, but the second stood out to her: _we can choose others_.

 _Choose_.

She had a choice. Sure, there was some higher being that had a plan for her; but there was nothing saying she had to buy into it. She could choose to be with whoever she wanted, and really, she’d already made that decision.

And right now, that choice was living on dry land, on two legs, on the other side of town, and had managed to slip into her heart easier than anyone ever had.

She set the book down and looked at the time; she had about an hour and a half until transformation time. She had no idea when he was supposed to get back from his sailing trip, but she didn’t care; she just wanted to see him, even if she’d have to wait a while and change forms.

(And she was well aware that she might be tempting some soulmate-related things, but now that she’d made a decision, she wasn’t going to question it.)

Hastily, she barrelled down the stairs while shooting off a quick text to Killian. _Are you home? Can I come over?_ She slipped down the last couple steps but somehow stayed on her feet, so she grabbed her jacket off the coatrack by the door after regaining her balance, shouted a quick ‘bye!’ to Dave and Snow, and threw open the door to dash out to her car through the rain.

A rumble of thunder accompanied the similar sound of her engine coming to life, and she flipped on the headlights and wipers, shifted into drive, and peeled out (as much as anyone could peel out of a wet gravel driveway).

Lightning streaked overhead and she felt like she was driving almost as fast, making near-record time to his house. No lights were on when she pulled up, though, and he hadn’t replied to her text yet.

She grabbed her umbrella off of where it lived on the floor by the passenger’s seat and headed out, running around the house to his dock—his currently empty dock. Damn. No wonder he hadn’t answered her.

Now what? She wasn’t sure what to do, and shifted her weight side to side as she stared out at the horizon—what she could see of it, at least. The rain was coming down harder than when she’d left home and the wind was picking up, making the sea choppy. She stood there for a few more minutes, hoping to catch any sight of his ship out in the open water, but he must have been beyond the view of the cove.

Another strike of lightning flashed, reminding Emma that she probably shouldn’t be standing out in the open with an umbrella during a thunderstorm. She gave one last scan for the ship, but resigned her search and headed back to the car.

She waited there another twenty minutes or so, but no signs of life returned to his house and it was getting close to transformation time. She fully planned on staying out here until he got back—she didn’t like how rough the waves looked and wanted to make sure he got in okay—but didn’t want to risk him coming home to her empty car in his driveway and a swan hanging out near his dock. So she relocated to her hiding place, sent a text to Dave to let him know where she was, and settled in to wait.

Dave, true to paternalistic form, told her to be careful. But he was right: this storm was intense. She really didn’t want to go out in it, but now was at the point where she didn’t have enough time to drive home, and her swan form couldn’t see over the steering wheel if she stayed in here.

There was no fighting it, so she just bucked up and stripped, and managed to slip out her door just as the transformation took hold. She was just strong enough as a swan to get the door shut again, thankfully, so at least she’d have dry clothes at the end of the night.

Her attempt at flying to Killian’s dock didn’t go so well—the wind tossed her around like she was a seagull. So she swam to it as quick as she was able and took up her watch underneath. The waves were surprisingly violent even here, so close to shore; more than once, they tossed her up against the underside of the dock, no doubt leaving bruises that she’d find in the morning. (The one downside to changing forms: what happened in one still affected the other; her broken arm in 12th grade also had left her with a broken wing.)

It seemed like hours passed as she waited there in the surf, but finally, she caught the sound of a motor through the constant crash of waves and roll of thunder. She peered out and there it was: the _Jolly Roger_ , fighting against the stormy sea to safe haven. Her sails were folded away but she still looked pretty damn epic as she crested the waves, illuminated by the sporadic bolts of lightning. When it got closer, she could see Killian at the wheel, underneath a protective awning that had been drawn over the helm and adorably wrapped up in what was possibly the baggiest raincoat she’d ever seen. She still didn’t understand his aversion to being wet but admired his ability to stay dry.

Docking seemed to take forever as he urged the ship against waves that were determined to take him back out to sea, but eventually, he was able to get close enough to toss a line out or whatever—she couldn’t exactly see everything from under the dock, but was aware that the ship’s engine had been shut off and the whole thing was slowly drifting closer.

She heard a long sigh from Killian, and then his footsteps were on the wood above her. If she looked at the right angle, she could see him through the slats; it looked like he was bracing against the wind and trying to hold his hood on.

It didn’t last, though; a gust blew it off his head and he froze where he was, glancing around and down at himself. She could just make out the rain plastering his hair to his forehead and the almost panicked look on his face that slowly melted to a smile. What was that about?

But her wondering quickly became terror when a huge wave came up, smashing her against the dock and knocking the wind out of her. Then it dragged her under the surface until she became disoriented—it was deeper than she realized here, and with no moonlight to help her discern which way was up, she could feel the hysteria setting in.

Somehow, she managed to hold her breath and calm down, letting herself float to the surface. She gasped for air when she broke through, as much as a swan could gasp, at least. Once she regained her bearings, she looked toward Killian’s cottage, hoping for some sign of him, but it was still dark.

Frantically, she scanned the dock and his ship, but he wasn’t there. The wave must have knocked him off, so she started to look around for him in the water but...nothing. Did he not know how to swim?

“Killian!” she called out, even though he wouldn’t understand her. “Killian!” She honestly didn’t know what she sounded like to the untrained ear, but if it was anything like how she felt, it sounded pretty terrifying.

Thankfully, the rain was tapering off and the clouds were just starting to break up, letting a bit of moonlight free as she swam around and searched and screamed. Finally, she found something floating on the surface, but it didn’t give her much hope—it looked like his rain coat.

She desperately started diving under to look for any sign of him, but she could only dive so far, and the storm had left the water a murky mess. But still she tried, until her lungs burned; she might be an aquatic bird but that didn’t mean she was a fish. She refused to give up, though.

Movement finally caught her eye, but it was the last thing she wanted to see: the familiar blue tail of the resident merman. What the hell was he doing?

Wait—maybe he could help? Was there some way she could get his attention and communicate that Killian was down there somewhere? Do merpeople speak swan?

There was only one way to find out. She started splashing and diving, making a scene, hoping to catch his notice.

His tail fanned out a few more times, getting closer each time. Oh, thank goodness; it seemed to be working.

At last, he broke through the surface—and she immediately froze upon seeing him.

“So that’s you causing all that racket?” Killian said, brushing the hair out of his face and grinning.

Killian. Floating in the water. Where the merman had just been.

“I’m fine, love; but perhaps it’s best you seek shelter for the rest of the night, aye? I’d hate to see my favorite feathered friend hurt in a storm like this.”

Killian—he was—what? Her brain wasn’t computing.

He leaned in conspiratorially. “Do you think you can keep this secret between us?” She had no answer; she didn’t even blink. “Thought so,” he continued on, smirking. “Take care, love.”

And then he was gone, with another flip of his stunning fin.

That was his secret: he was a merman. He was _the_ merman. Emma’s brain was short circuiting with a million questions and answers all at once. But two things quickly reached the forefront of her thoughts:

1\. If he was a merman, then that meant there was a chance they were soulmates.

2\. HOLY SHIT.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much happens in this chapter, y’all. I really hope you like it because some BIG stuff is in here. One more chapter after this…eee! As always, thanks to the organizers of @cssns for organizing this, and thanks to you readers for sticking with it!

It didn’t matter how long she sat floating on the water; the same thought played over and over, but she still couldn’t believe it: holy shit, Killian is a merman.

Once the initial shock wore off, she first had to question her sanity, or at least current mental state—maybe she’d been thrown against the dock harder than she thought?

But then his rain jacket washed up against her with the incoming tide, and the cuff he always wore was peeking out of the pocket. That had clearly been intentionally placed, and she knew he wouldn’t just take it off. 

So it was real: he was a merman...and possibly her soulmate. 

Honestly, now that she thought about it, the signs were all there: his sheltered childhood, his appetite for fish, the weird way he acted when she started asking after books about mermaids, and especially his aversion to getting wet despite living on the water and owning a boat—it all made sense now. (Maybe giving her the romance novel had been a test?)

As the clouds gave way to a starry sky, she cursed herself for not trying to see if his mark had been visible. Though, she had been a bit preoccupied—it was the second-greatest shock of her life, after her first transformation, so her focus had been elsewhere. 

(She did get a good look at his collarbones, though...damn...and the bit of chest hair she’d seen, plastered to his skin, gave her some very un-swan-like thoughts.)

It got more believable the more she repeated it to herself—the merman part, at least—but the fact that he might be her soulmate was still giving her pause. What if he still rejected her after he saw her transform? Or worse—what if he still wasn’t hers?

But then her gaze fell on one of the constellations he showed her—Cygnus—and she remembered how it guided him here. She obviously wasn’t big on cosmic signs but she had to admit, that one was pretty glaring. 

She was both excited and uncertain about everything, and needed to calm down, because her current train of thought wasn’t helping her with anything. 

The constant rise and fall of the waves didn’t help, either—she didn’t know it was possible for a swan to get seasick, but she was starting to feel nauseous. That could have just been a side effect of her emotional state, but calmer waters would definitely help.

The wind was nearly gone so she took off back towards home; again, she’d have to worry about her car tomorrow (or today, or whatever time it was). The pond was smooth as glass when she landed gracelessly, shattering the surface with ripples and splashing a bit louder than planned. Oh well, the horses could deal with being woken up; those big babies probably hadn’t slept through the storm, anyway. 

Not long after she landed—during which time she hadn’t relaxed at all—a sleepy voice called out from the dock. “Emma? Is everything okay?”

Snow was standing at the end of it in a parka and leggings, stifling a yawn with her hand. 

“Why are you awake?” Emma answered, avoiding the question—mainly because she still didn’t know how to answer. 

Snow shrugged. “You know how my sixth sense works.” In addition to being able to talk to birds, she could also tell when one was distressed, and more than once had gone traipsing through the woods to bring some poor injured dove or robin to Dave’s vet practice. “What’s wrong?”

Emma sighed, though she knew it came out more like a hiss. “I’m...not even sure how to start,” she said, swimming closer as Snow took a seat. “It’s...complicated.”

“Is it Killian?” Snow asked, her casual tone indicating that she already knew it was but wanted to hear Emma say it.

“Yeah,” she confirmed. “I’m guessing you heard Ruby’s news?”

“Mhmm; she told me after school.”

“Okay. So then you know what she found out about her soulmark?”

“Yeah...ohhhhhhh.” Snow’s eyes grew wide when she made the connection. “So you think your soulmate is a merman?”

“I...I think so.”

“And not Killian?” She sounded disappointed; Emma wondered how many hours she’d already put into planning their hypothetical wedding.

“That’s the thing: it might be.” She knew she probably shouldn’t tell Snow what she’d seen earlier—Snow was notoriously terrible at keeping a secret—but this was one thing she was usually good with, so she went ahead and gave a play-by-play of the past couple days, starting from when he unknowingly divulged that he had a secret, her thought process after Ruby’s revelation, right up until he disappeared under the surface with a fan of his fin.

“Oh, Emma! That’s so exciting!” Snow said, clapping enthusiastically. “So what are you going to do now?”

“I have no idea!” she hissed back. “How the hell do you tell someone, ‘Hey, I was spying on you while in my secret other form and caught a glimpse of you in your secret other form and I think we might be soulmates’?”

“I mean, you could do it just like that,” Snow suggested, unhelpfully. 

Emma groaned. “You know it’s not that easy. I mean, how did you and David know?” She hadn’t found out they were soulmates until after they were engaged, but Snow had long held her sisterly stamp of approval. The details of how they found out had never fully been revealed to her, though.

Which may have been intentional, judging from the sudden shift in Snow’s gaze to anywhere but Emma. “Are you sure you wanna know?” she asked, almost wincing.

“You acting weird about it only makes me want to know more.”

Snow huffed. “Okay, but I warned you: Remember when we broke up for a bit?”

“Yeah; David was miserable.”

Snow nodded. “So was I; that was why we decided to get back together. And...there might have been some makeup sex, during which he found the mark on my side.”

Emma was speechless—not so much at the thought of them getting it on (she had ears; they weren’t as quiet as they thought they were) but more that it took them so long to realize it; they’d been together probably a year at that point, and she knew David had wondered it, considering his mark was a snowflake, but she was surprised he’d never noticed hers until then. “It really took you that long?”

“Well, it’s not like we usually had the lights on or anything,” she explained. “But yeah. I had thought the sex was great because he was just really good. But then when we came back together—when we chose each other for good—it was like coming home.”

Emma ignored the part about her brother being good in bed and focused on the last part: Killian really had been the best lover she’d ever had; she figured it was just Killian, but maybe there truly was more to that.

“Oh my God, did you guys do it?” Snow whisper-yelled. 

“How could you tell?!” Emma protested (and clearly failed at).

“Because you were thinking about it. Otherwise, you’d have been complaining.”

Damn her intuition. “Okay, yes; we did and it was amazing.”

“So then what the hell are you waiting for?”

“I’m scared, okay!” Emma heard herself blurt out. “There’s…there’s a lot that could go wrong and I don’t...I can’t lose him.” It was the first time she’d really admitted that, even to herself, but she couldn’t deny it anymore—the fact that she was this concerned about things with him just proved that she was into him way more than she’d ever been with anyone before. She might even put the L-word on it, but didn’t want to push it that far yet.

“Look, I get it,” Snow said, softer. “It is scary. Terrifying, even. And I know why you’re worried. But you and I both know Killian, and we know that he’s nothing like Neal. You can trust him.” Leave it to Snow to always be an eternal optimist; but, honestly, Emma needed to hear that right now. “Because you deserve a happy ending, Emma. And happy endings always start with hope.”

She was completely right, Emma knew. It was hard to overcome those ingrained emotional walls and instinctive responses, but he’d somehow managed to knock them halfway down while letting her do the same to his; it would be up to her to overcome the rest. 

“So do you know what you have to do?” Snow asked quietly. 

“Yeah, I do,” Emma replied. She didn’t quite know how yet, but thankfully, she had some time before their date to figure that out. Odds were likely she’d stumble over her words, but hey, not everyone could be an eloquent librarian merman. 

“Good. Now, it’s freezing and I’m sure you’d rather be inside where hot water and your clothes are. Come on.” And not waiting another moment, Snow scooped Emma out of the water, hugged her close, and carried her back to the house. 

Normally, Emma would complain at being carried around like a pet, but right now, she was glad for it: she was shaking, but wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or her nerves. Because, holy crap: she was probably going on a date with her soulmate tonight...and she was actually, finally excited for that. 

* * *

Hours later, she woke up—warm in her bed, after spending the rest of the night in a hot bath until she shifted back—to a brief buzz coming from the nightstand. She cracked an eye open and saw the screen of her phone lit up, so she fumbled for the device and blinked her bleary eyes to read it.

**Killian <3** **  
** _ Good morning, luv. Can’t wait for tonight! See you then ;* _

Sleepily, she grinned at the screen as her heart skipped a beat. In her early-morning muddledness, she just couldn’t wait to see him again; it hadn’t even been 24 hours, but that was much too long as far as her foggy brain was concerned.

But then she glanced at the time and realized it was much closer to lunch than breakfast, and everything else settled in—and she remembered the weight that this evening was going to carry. Her giddiness waned a bit, replaced by more than a little bit of anxiety, but her eagerness surprisingly didn’t falter.

That was good, right?

Her stomach rumbled then—either from hunger or nervousness, she wasn’t sure—so that was her cue to get up and get moving; the sooner she did, the sooner she’d see Killian. 

She slipped into Granny’s once she was dressed and somewhat presentable—a harder task than anticipated, given how sore she still was from the waves’ beating last night. She glanced around, instinctively hoping she might find Killian here, but no such luck. He hadn’t yet replied to her responding text of _Same! ;*_   so she had hoped that meant he was eating; evidently not. 

More dejectedly than she’d care to admit, she found her favorite stool at the counter and took a seat, by herself. Wow, she’d become a sap pretty damn fast, hadn’t she? Well, she could fully blame that on her brother and sister-in-law...and probably a bit on the cute couple in front of her.

At the other end of the counter, Ruby was grinning at and whispering with another adorable brunette, both looking completely smitten as they stole kisses over a milkshake. Normally, she’d roll her eyes at a display like that, but knowing what it was—and how happy it made her friend—she could only smile at it. 

She didn’t want to interrupt them, but Ruby noticed her sitting by herself and waved her to come sit down by them. “Emma, this is Dorothy,” she introduced, completely lovestruck. 

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Emma gushed, completely sincerely. As they chatted over lunch, it was easy to see that Dorothy was completely lovely and absolutely perfect for Ruby. And seeing how totally in love they were just firmed Emma’s resolve: for the first time in ages, she wanted that for herself—and it was actually within reach.

They were laughing at a story Dorothy was telling about growing up in Kansas when something made Emma pause. The doorbell rang and and chill ran down Emma’s spine, freezing her in place. Something dark was there.

She turned to look at who’d just entered: Cruella, followed by a man she’d only seen in pictures: Gold. What the hell was he doing in Storybrooke? And why was he with her? She could feel the darkness rolling off him in waves; she’d gotten used to the feel of a witch or wizard from hanging out with Regina and could recognize the aura of magic that they all held, but his was something much darker and more sinister than she’d ever encountered before.

“Ems? You okay?” Ruby tried to pull her back into the conversation, but Emma couldn’t help but follow Gold with her eyes; whatever he was doing here wasn’t good, especially given the town’s concentration of the supernatural and the mysterious disappearances already connected to him.

“Yeah; sorry,” she apologized, but still shivered when Gold and Cruella took a seat at the table behind them. But she didn’t say anything because she didn’t want to raise any suspicions and cause Gold to run. She did, however, slip her phone out to text Regina, letting her know he was here. 

It worked out that Dorothy needed to head out and Ruby had to get back to work, leaving Emma alone to drink her hot chocolate and listen in on the newcomers. 

“You’re positive it’s a merman?” Gold said quietly in his Scottish accent; even his voice sounded kind of evil. Shit—was he the friend Cruella had talked about?

“Completely; I know they wouldn’t lie to me,” Cruella answered, sounding somewhat sober for a change. What the hell was going on?

He scoffed. “I still can’t believe you used  _ them _ ; she’s been getting too close to me as it is.”

Emma was surprised they were speaking so candidly; did they not see her sitting here? Or maybe the fact that she’d worn a blue jacket today was disguising her; the red one was still in her car. 

“It’s not like they’d suspect anything of me, darling; you’re fine. Now what?”

“Now, I do a bit of fishing. Mermen, in my experience, tend to be...slippery.” He chuckled menacingly at his own bad joke. “I have to act fast if I want to add him to my collection.”

Emma’s heart stopped. In all the chaos of the last 12 hours, she hadn’t once thought of the ramifications of telling Cruella about the merman—she hadn’t even considered that it might put Killian into harm’s way. She’d been too jolted by the revelation to get that far, but now? Fuck. 

(Also: did Gold just reveal the fate of the others who’d gone missing?)

He continued, “I’ve got my men on a fishing boat, trawling the cove right now. If it’s as I suspect, the creature uses an enchantment to walk on legs, but needs to return to the water at some point to survive. We’ll catch him sooner or later.” Then he chuckled—an evil thing that gave her goosebumps. “Hope he gets on with the mermaid I’ve caught, too; it would be a shame to not have a matching pair.”

Shit shit shit. Killian was usually in the sea after dark, but if they had plans tonight, then he was probably there now—thus why he hadn’t answered her text. Dammit, she had to warn him. 

As quickly and surreptitiously as she could manage, she placed some cash on the counter and slipped out before Cruella saw her. Once out on Granny’s patio, she called Killian. “Please answer, please answer, please answer,” she muttered as it rang, but it went to voicemail. 

Frustrated, she hung up. She couldn’t let him know that she knew in a voicemail message. Dammit, she’d just have to get over there herself—but she had to let Regina know what was going on. 

Emma snuck down the alley next to the diner and thankfully, Regina answered. “Emma? What’s going on? Is it Gold?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. “He has the mermaid and he’s going after Killian—the merman,” she corrected. “You were right: he’s gathering them; I heard him say he has a collection.”

“Fuck. Okay, I know who to call; you...don’t to anything stupid, but try to stall him.”

“Will do.”

“Just don’t get hurt, okay?”

“I’ll try but no promises,” she sighed. “I...I can’t let him get Killian,” she blurted.

Regina was silent for a moment, then said, “I expect you to tell me all about him once you make sure he’s safe; got it?” Emma could hear her boss smiling over the phone. 

“Got it. Talk later?”

“Yup. Good luck.”

She hung up and Emma pocketed her phone, then started to run towards the street. But was that really the best way to get to Killian’s? And what would she do then—jump into the icy water and catch hypothermia trying to warn him?

No, that wasn’t going to work. There was really only one thing she could do now. She just hoped it worked. 

Instead, she redirected and snuck in the back door of the diner to a little-used storage room. Quickly, she locked its door, stripped, opened the window, and then focused on her swan form like she’d done the other day. She’d honestly never tried to do this during the day, but she had to give it a shot. 

And she thanked whatever higher being was listening when she felt the tingle of her transformation. She focused on nothing but that until it was done. It felt awkward, like wearing clothes that didn’t fit properly, but it seemed to be holding so she wasn’t going to complain. 

Not wasting another minute, she took off out the window and across town, making a beeline to the cove. She still didn’t have a plan of action, but she could figure it out on the fly. She just hoped she wasn’t too late. 

When the cove came into sight, it wasn’t hard to miss the fishing trawler, sitting uncomfortably large in the center. And to her horror, it was pulling up something in its net—something much too large, and with too many limbs, to be just a fish. 

Killian’s panicked cries could barely be heard over the ship’s engine, but her ears were tuned to his voice and the sound sent a pang to her heart as she circled, figuring out her next step. Instinct told her to go free him, but she knew that wouldn’t work as a swan. 

A man was standing near the helm operating a device not unlike the controls for one of those claw machines. The arm on the boat that held the net was slowly swinging over the deck under his guidance; if she had any chance to free Killian, it was there. 

The guy had no idea what was coming when she divebombed him, forcing him to stumble backwards away from the controls. He took a swing at her, but she flew at him again, sending him overboard. 

She landed on the panel, slipping a bit as her feet found purchase, but got enough balance to locate the button labeled “RELEASE” and pecked it with her beak. It took a few tries, but finally, she hit it hard enough and Killian fell a few feet to the deck, groaning when he hit the surface. She’d apologize for any bruises later. 

She flitted over (as much as a 25-pound bird could flit) to try to help him out of the net, though he really didn’t need her—she just wanted to. 

He tugged it off his face and sat up, giving her a good look at that wonderful chest of his—damn, it was even better than she imagined, with his strong pecs covered in that perfect dusting of hair and—was that a tattoo over his heart? Or was it something else? Now was not the time to be thinking about that, though, especially as he then looked over at her and grinned. “Well, hello again; how did—?” 

“You!” A roaring voice interrupted Killian, and from a cloud of smoke that appeared before them, Gold stepped forward. “I should have known it’d be you here. Steal anyone else’s wives lately?”

“Bloody hell,” Killian cursed under his breath. “What do you want, Gold?”

“Well, I had planned on adding you to my collection,” he sneered, “but that seems like too good a fate for the man that destroyed my family.”

“You did that yourself!” Killian shouted back, while desperately trying to shake his tail free of the net. “Milah didn’t love you; she loved me! And you just couldn’t deal with that!” 

Oh, shit—Milah was Gold’s wife?

“I lost everything because of you!” Gold continued. “I lost her; my son left me—all because you seduced her!”

“Maybe your son wouldn’t have left you if you hadn’t killed her! She was her own person with her own free will; I did nothing—”

“You didn’t leave well enough alone!” Gold roared, all arguments against him falling on deaf ears. “I should have finished you off when I had the chance...and I think I just might now.” 

With another swirl of dark red smoke, a harpoon gun appeared in Gold’s hands and Killian immediately flinched. Fear shone in his wide eyes, and he was trying to move himself away but his tail was still caught in the net; almost literally, it would be like shooting fish in a barrel for Gold.

But not if she could help it. The wizard had hardly lifted the weapon to aim when she took off right at him, throwing her full weight into his shoulder and chest to force him to drop the gun. It clattered to the deck and he with it.

Hoping Killian would take it as a chance to get the hell out of there, she continued to attack, letting her swan brain take over as she flapped her wings, hissed, and pecked at the man. He tried to shove her away but once she’d given her avian instincts control, they wouldn’t let up—this man equalled danger and she wouldn’t stop until he did. 

She was so enraged that she barely noticed the ball of white light forming in his palm until it was shooting out at her, catching her left wing and sending her spiraling across the ship. She slammed against the railing on the other side and slumped to the deck, seeing stars and gasping for the breath that had been knocked out of her. Fuck, that stung.

Struggling, she managed to get back on her feet to see that Killian had freed himself from the net and was moving towards the opposite railing. Good; at least he’d be able to get out of here. She was going to have to come up with something quick, though, because Gold was also upright and staring at her with a reptilian grin that made her skin crawl.

“Oh, what do we have here?” he wondered aloud. She tried to flap her wings to get away, but suddenly couldn’t move at all—which, given the way his hand was stretched toward her, was his doing. “You’re no ordinary bird, are you?” He started moving in her direction, and she could see a scaly texture taking over his skin as he used his magic; now she understood why Killian had called him a crocodile. “Perhaps I will be making an addition to my collection today after all; I’d quite like to study you, dearie, and take some of your magic for my own.”

Shit—that was what he was doing? No wonder he was going after the fairies. But she didn’t want to end up a lab rat for some Frankenstein wannabe—she needed to get out of here, and fast.

But the hold his magic had on her wasn’t letting up, and the more she struggled against it, the harder it became to breathe, to think, to even focus on anything—

Until Gold let out a sharp howl of pain and she was let go, wheezing to breathe and figure out what the heck had just happened. Then she noticed the harpoon sticking out of Gold’s foot, slick with an oily substance on it that was too dark to be blood, and followed the angle of the bolt for its source: Killian, still lying on the deck with the weapon in hand.

Gold continued to screech in agony. “What have you done? You’ll pay for this—I’ll see to it!” Despite the pain he was in, he still held up his hand, clearly trying to summon his magic, but nothing came. “What?” he stammered, looking in terror at his palm and waving it about in various ways. Still, nothing happened, until he apparently gave up and huffed out, “This isn’t over!” and waved his hand one last time with the same result.

“Actually, I’m afraid it is,” a female voice said out of nowhere. In a poof of glitter, a woman appeared, dressed all in blue and with a severe look on her face; it was also impossible to miss the sparkly blue wings on her back. “You’ve done enough damage for several lifetimes, Mr. Gold—or should we call you Rumplestiltskin?”

Gold, or whatever his name was, was cowering in fear from the fairy.

“For your crimes, you will be put to trial by the High Fairy Council and punished as we see fit. And as I’m sure you’re aware, we aren’t a forgiving group,” she sternly warned. Then she glanced between Emma and Killian. “Thank you for all your assistance; we’ll take it from here.”

Another whirl of blue magic swept both Gold and the fairy away, leaving a bit of glitter hanging in the air and a few very bewildered individuals (the boat operator had climbed back aboard and seemed to be the most confused of the three of them).

Killian shook his head and blinked, clearly trying to figure out whatever the hell had just happened. He didn’t seem to have completely figured it out, but was recovered enough to tell the driver, “Right; have a good day, then,” before grabbing onto the railing and pulling himself over it back into the sea.

Emma took that as her cue to head off, too, despite the awful ache in her wing from getting hit by Gold’s magic. She flew off the boat and settled in the water, near Killian’s dock so she could make sure he was okay, and watched as the ship sped off and out of the cove, likely breaking some speed limits or wake rules or whatever but no one seemed to be around to complain.

Just as the boat disappeared from sight, Killian’s head popped up not far from her. “There you are; thank goodness,” he sighed, then swam towards her. “The man is insane, but he was right about you—you’re not the average swan, are you, lass?” 

She so desperately wanted to tell him the truth, but what if he couldn’t understand her? No, it was better to wait until later. 

He didn’t seem to think anything of her silence, though. “Whatever you are, you’re definitely one thing: my savior.” And to her surprise, he reached out and stroked the feathers of her back. The movement let her see a bit more of his chest from where it had been submerged, but not enough to see the mark she’d noticed earlier. Again, they could worry about that later.

What worried her now was that she could feel her adrenaline falling, and with it, the tingle of her transformation; should have known she wouldn’t be able to hold onto this form indefinitely. Thank goodness her car was still over here. 

She didn’t want to just fly off on him again, though, so she placed a light peck with her beak on his cheek; just a tap, but hopefully he’d understand somewhat. And then she took off to where her car was hidden, focusing entirely on making it there lest she fall out of the air as a naked woman—which  _ definitely _ wasn’t the way she wanted to tell him.

Her arm was still killing her when she shifted back to human, and was probably exacerbated by how quickly she dressed before getting behind the wheel. She was cold, sore, and tired as she drove back across town, but also relieved and eager for what the day still held. 

She needed a hot bath, some Aleve, and probably a nap, but then: she had a date to get ready for. And though she knew that this one was going to change her life, for the first time in forever, she couldn’t contain her excitement.

* * *

After the aforementioned hot bath and a longer nap than she’d intended, she was finishing getting ready when Killian texted again. 

_ ‘Twas a busier day than expected; is it alright if we stay in tonight? I’ll cook :D _

“Long” was putting it lightly; and she could never turn down his cooking. She texted back that it sounded lovely, brushed back a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail, and then headed downstairs. 

She shouted out to Dave and Snow that she was leaving and not to wait up, grabbed her red leather jacket off the coatrack and slipped it on over the frilly white blouse she’d borrowed from Snow, and finally headed out to her car and into the dusk. 

As she drove, she wondered what lay ahead. She was feeling uncharacteristically optimistic, despite all that she knew that could go wrong—he might not be her soulmate, or he might get freaked out about her alter ego (alter eagle? How had she never thought of that one before?), or any other number of scenarios could play out. But damn Snow and her damn hope had rubbed off, and Emma was ready to take whatever next step or leap or soar or swim came next. 

He greeted her at the door with a tired grin—she could see the weariness in the crinkles around his eyes—and an overdue kiss; it may have only been 30 hours or so since their last, but so much had happened in that short span of time. 

Their lips broke apart, but their foreheads stayed connected as they leaned into each other; fatigue clearly had a hold on them both. “I missed you, Emma,” he said softly, wrapping his arms around her. “I...had a long day, and I’m so glad you’re here.” His admission sounded almost like a confession—though, after the day they had and the memories she was sure it had brought up for him, she understood. Even for her, there was something grounding and reassuring about being in his embrace.

For a long moment, they stood there, just holding each other in the entryway, until Killian’s chivalrous side woke up, apparently. “My apologies; I’m not being much of a gentleman. Here; let me take your coat.”

She turned in his arms to let him slip the jacket from his shoulders, but winced a bit when it slid down her sore arm. “You alright, love?” he asked, and glanced down at the limb, no doubt seeing the bruises that had formed up and down it.

“Yeah, just sore; I...had to fight off a predator today.” It was the best she could come up with; she wasn’t about to reveal everything while standing in his foyer.

“One of those wolves go after the flock?” he asked as he hung her jacket in the closet.

“Uh, yeah.” Thankfully, he came up with that one for her.

“I’m going to assume you won.”

“I had some help, but yeah; that thing won’t be bugging us again.” Sometimes, she hated how good she was at double meanings; but with any luck, she wouldn’t need them with him anymore.

He escorted her into the kitchen, where she could smell something divine cooking. “Mm, what is that?”

“Just salmon, with a garlic-brown sugar glaze. How’s it sound?”

“Amazing.”

She poured wine while he finished prepping dinner and told her about his day—where she found out he was a terrible liar, making up a tale about storytime gone awry for the cause of his exhaustion. Good thing she wasn’t going to hold it against him. 

As he plated their meals, he told her to go pick out another movie. Alone in his living room, nerves were finally starting to build; she thought she’d be able to wing it, but now that she was here, she had no idea how to tell him everything. Blurting it out seemed anticlimactic, and she wasn’t the wordsmith Killian was. But then a DVD caught her eye, and she had an idea.

When he came into the room,  _ Empire Strikes Back _ was ready to play, and they settled into it and each other, scooting close in the middle of the couch.

The food was divine, as usual, but even better was just being with him. Like last time, they cast their empty dishes to the side when they were done and curled up even more impossibly close, Killian’s arm around her and her head on his shoulder. It was a testament to how worn out they both were that neither was jumping the other’s bones.

Not far into the movie, it had gotten to one of her favorite scenes—and Killian’s as well, it seemed. “Scoundrel? I like the sound of that,” he said at the same time Han said it on the screen.

He grabbed her hand and mimicked what was playing out between Han and Leia. She was blushing too hard to really play along, but he apparently wasn’t having that.

“You like me because I'm a scoundrel. There aren't enough scoundrels in your life,” he continued when it got to that part.

“I happen to like nice men,” Emma finally caved.

“I'm nice men.”

She couldn’t refute that, and skipped Leia’s next line right to the kissing part, grabbing the collar of his button-up to pull him close. His hand found its way into her hair as he deepened the kiss, lasting much longer than the one on screen, until they needed to break apart for air. And even then, she stole another peck.

They settled back in to watch after that, occasionally exchanging kisses, but mostly just huddled together. He draped a blanket over them when she shivered, and between the warmth of that, the familiarity of the movie, and his soothing scent, she soon found herself fighting to stay awake for the part she really wanted.

The next thing she knew, the room was dark, the movie was over, and the alarm on her phone was going off from where it sat on the coffee table. She jolted up blearily, reaching for it to shut it off on instinct, and then cursing. “Dammit.” She totally missed the part of the movie she’d wanted, hoping Han and Leia’s admissions of love would have helped her out. So much for that.

Killian shifted next to her, also waking up. He stretched, inadvertently distracting her with the way his shirt moved with him and over his muscles, until he flopped back against the cushions and blinked dramatically. “Do you have to leave?” he asked, audibly sad.

“I…” Her original plan may have been foiled, but maybe there was another way to tell Killian everything. “No, I can stay,” she told him. “But...can we go outside?”

“Of course,” he replied with a sleepy smile, then moved to stand. “Let me go grab your jacket.”

“Uh, no,” she stammered out. “I—I don’t need it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. It had been so long since she’d done this, and those old feelings of hurt were threatening to rise. Neal’s voice echoed in her head again— _ Who could ever love someone like you? _ But she swallowed it down; she didn’t have to worry about that anymore. Regardless of how this went in regards to the soulmates thing, she trusted Killian with this and wanted to fully let him in. She stood up, maybe not as confidently as she wanted to, but still held her hand out to Killian. “Come on.”

There was a slight furrow in his brow; he could tell something was up. But still he took her hand and let her tug him up, and then followed her outside. The air was definitely cooler than it had been earlier, and goosebumps formed on her skin immediately—though they weren’t entirely caused by the temperature.

“Emma, love, are you sure you don’t want your coat? I’ll go—”

“No,” she cut him off. “I’m fine. Just...give me a minute.”

They walked hand-in-hand to the end of the dock, looking out over the calm water where the sliver of moon was reflecting. It was so peaceful now; it was hard to believe that only hours earlier, it had been so chaotic, even if it was only for a moment.

The faintest tingling started in her spine, so that was her cue. Quickly and carefully, she slipped off her boots and socks, then started tugging at her jeans.

“Emma? What...what are you doing?” Killian had a hand stretched out as he watched her strip, but he clearly had no idea what else to do. It was adorable. 

“Bear with me,” she said as she she shimmied her jeans down and stepped out of them.

She reached under the blouse to unlatch her bra, then slid the straps down her arms (wincing again as she moved the left) and tugged it off from under her shirt. The tingling had picked up; she had maybe another minute. So she swiftly took of her underwear and then stepped back from the edge of the dock, standing so her right side was facing Killian.

Slowly now, she grabbed the hem of her top and started to pull it up. Killian audibly swallowed as she moved, but then she heard the hitch in his breath when her soulmark was uncovered. She tugged the top over her head and tossed it to the side, then looked over at him. He was biting back a grin, and tried to school his features when he saw her looking, but was unable to.

Smiling, she faced the end of the dock again and took off in a sprint just as the transformation took hold, and a second later, she was flying over the surface of the water, gliding on her wings.

She arced back quickly, landing on the surface as smoothly as she could, and then floated at the end of the dock, watching for Killian’s reaction.

Understandably, he looked shocked—eyes wide, jaw slack. He took a faltering step forward, but then paused again, just staring at her. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head as his eyes narrowed at her, no doubt piecing everything together. But her nerves were back—had this been a mistake?

Just when she was starting to debate flying off and never coming back, a huge grin took over his features. “Emma, that’s really you?” he said, coming forward to take a seat at the end of the dock. 

She still wasn’t sure if he’d understand her by talking, so settled on nodding and fluffing her wings.

His grin didn’t falter. “It’s been you...this whole time.” He chuckled and, to her surprise, started unbuttoning his shirt. That was an odd transition; was he going to join her in the water? 

But he’d barely gotten to the end of the row of buttons when he was shoving the fabric to the side, revealing the right side of his chest—more specifically, the mark she’d seen earlier but couldn’t figure out. She paddled forward to get a better look at it, and was shocked she hadn’t noticed it then.

He leaned over so she could see, and right over his heart, low on his breast, was a birthmark in the distinctive shape of a swan.

A swan. Just like her. 

Holy shit. 

Despite all the hoping, despite what was drawn on her own side, despite already having chosen him, she was still completely shocked. These things didn’t happen to her—life rarely went in her favor; not since her adoption. 

But here she was, staring at the man she adored—her soulmate. 

It was like something had clicked into place in her life—a Killian-shaped piece finally snapping in where it was supposed to be. All those fears and worries disappeared in an instant, leaving her with nothing but relief and, because she could finally admit it: love. 

And all she could do was sigh. 

(Goddammit, why didn’t she have lips right now?)

As she stared and let the truth sink in, Killian had finished taking off his shirt, revealing his solid, toned upper body, and stood up to undo his jeans. He glanced around for any onlookers, and, finding none, slid both pants and underpants off in one smooth, inexcusably hot motion. 

He sat back down, dangling his bare toes (bare everything) over the water, and started toying with his leather cuff. But then he looked up at her through those thick lashes and smirked. “I suppose you already know this part, so it’s not much of a reveal; yet I can’t help but be nervous.”

Not knowing what else to do, she encouragingly headbutted his shin; hopefully, he’d get the message. 

“Aye; you’re right,” he replied. “And you definitely had the harder reveal; it’s not fair for me to hold back.” He took a deep breath. “Here goes.”

He slipped the wrist off his cuff and almost immediately, his legs glowed with a dim white light—brighter than his pale skin but not so much as to blind or draw attention. 

And when it faded, there was his tail—brilliant blue, shimmering and sparkling in the tiny bit of moonlight; it drove her swan brain crazy. 

A moment later, he carefully pushed himself off the dock, silently sliding into the water with the quietest splash and falling below the surface. But he came back up a second later, brushing the hair from his eyes and coming closer. 

It was like she was finally seeing him in his element. She’d been too shocked last night and too distracted today to really take it in, but damn, he was so perfect as a merman: the way drops of water clung to his lashes and beard, the way it pooled in his collarbones and plastered the hair to his chest, and the way his sea blue eyes seemed to echo the color of the water around them. He was just...stunning.

And somehow, he seemed just as taken with her—she knew swans were one of the prettier birds, but the reverent way he was staring at her made her feel flushed in a way she didn’t realize she was capable of in this form; if he kept it up, she was sure to look more like a flamingo soon.

Tentatively, he raised his hand and slowly, softly brushed the back of his fingers along the feathers of her neck. She shivered and leaned into his touch; it felt amazing. He smiled and continued, venturing further up until her head was cupped in his palm.

His eyes flitted over her, studying, but he found her gaze again. Smiling, he said, “I guess now I know why I couldn’t keep my eyes off you in either form. Should have known these marks would be literal.” His easy grin cut those adorable dimples into his scruff, and she just couldn’t stay silent anymore.

She didn’t know if he’d understand, but she had faith that this soulmate thing wasn’t so cruel as to prevent her from communicating with him. So she swallowed and confidently told him, “I love you, Killian.”

His eyes grew wide in surprise and his grin got impossibly larger, but then he answered, “I love you, too, Emma.”

She couldn’t help the excited flutter of her wings then, which made Killian jump back, laughing. But she quickly regained her composure and swam back to him, bumping into his shoulder and placing a light peck with her beak on his cheek. He reciprocated by wrapping his arms around her body and holding her close. 

To any onlooker, it looked at best awkward, at worst...well, she wasn’t going to go there. But as they floated there next to the dock, she couldn’t help but feel that everything was just as it should be.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG. THIS IS IT. THE LAST CHAPTER. I might be crying as I post this.
> 
> Sorry it's taken so long, but life has been busy and I wanted it to be perfect! (Hopefully, it is!)
> 
> Enjoy!

The next morning, still lying in Killian’s arms, she was awoken by the always-familiar tingling before she shifted back. They hadn’t done much else last night but cuddle—not that there was a ton they really could do in their respective alternate forms—but they’d fallen asleep huddled close and drifted under the dock. 

She debated trying to get his attention and to let her go before she transitioned, but he was just so beautiful and at peace while asleep that she was hesitant to wake him. So she just watched him as she shifted back in his embrace, wrapping her arms around him as soon as she was able. 

And, because her curiosity needed to be sated, she let a hand keep drifting down. The exact point where skin gave way to scale wasn’t completely discernible, but was smooth and gradual, starting near his waist, and she followed it over the curve of where his lovely rear end normally was. It wasn’t rough like fish scales or that mermaid sequin stuff, but more smooth and almost plated—hard, but still a bit pliant.

Her exploration did get his attention, though, and while she was palming his not-ass, he blearily blinked his eyes open and gave her a sleepy smile. “Well, hello, there; that’s a wake up,” he said, winking. “I guess last night wasn’t a dream after all, was it?”

“Nope,” she answered, grinning back and bringing her hand back to a more respectable location.

“Perhaps just a dream come true?”

“Something like that. You’re so cheesy.”

“Only for you, love.”

Finally, she got to do what she’d been longing to since 11 pm: she pressed her lips firmly against his, and he responded equally. Despite the chilled air and water, he and his lips were warm beneath her and she could feel heat rising within. It wasn’t really any different from any other time they kissed, but now, knowing that he was her soulmate? She couldn’t explain why, but it somehow made things even more romantic.

She shivered at that, jolting her from the kiss. Or maybe she was actually shivering; she suddenly realized just how cold the water was—and remembered that she was completely naked in it.

“Oh, bloody hell—we’ve gotta get you out of the water.” He glanced around, then settled his gaze on his ship. “There's blankets on board; think you can climb up?”

“Y-yeah,” she answered, teeth chattering. Now that she was aware of it, she was freezing, and her limbs didn’t seem to want to cooperate in swimming the few feet to the Jolly Roger. 

He noticed right away, and pulled her tight to him. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, and smoothly took her over with a single flip of his fin. He guided her to the ladder and made sure she got up okay—which she did, just barely—and then she watched as he swam back to the edge of the dock and used his considerable upper body strength to pull himself up. He grabbed his leather cuff from the pile of his clothes and then carefully swam back to the ship, paddling with one hand and his tail, and holding the bracelet aloft with the other. 

Before he climbed up, he slipped on the cuff and she could just make out a glow under the water in the early dawn light. When he started his ascent, his legs were back—his skinny, hairy legs that seemed to be demanding her attention with his defined thigh muscles. 

(And her eyes definitely traveled a bit farther north; it was true what they said about the cold’s effect on guys, but that didn’t make her want him any less.)

She was so entranced by his bare form that she hardly noticed how violently she was still shaking. “I’ll not have my soulmate die of hypothermia before I’ve even had the chance to properly ravage her. Come on; the blankets are down below.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and began to guide her toward the stairs, but getting her legs to cooperate was slow going. She hugged herself to him, partly for stability and partly for warmth. “H-how are you not c-c-cold?” she stuttered.

He shrugged as they finally reached the steps. “It’s a merperson thing; it doesn’t bother me.”

Despite focusing all her energy on making sure her foot hit the stair, she still snorted a laugh.

“You’re half-frozen and yet you’re the one laughing at the  _ Frozen  _ reference?” he quipped.

“Y-yes. And remind me t-to introduce y-you to Ing-rid.”

She could tell he was about to ask another question, but then she missed a step and nearly brought both of them down with her. Without another word, he regained his balance and then hauled her up into his arms. If she hadn’t been so damn cold, she’d have reveled in the fact that she had one arm around his neck and the other hand buried in his chest hair while they were both completely naked, but there’d be plenty of time to entertain those thoughts when she wasn’t an icicle.

He carefully guided them into the cabin and went straight for the sofa bed, which was already pulled out. He gently sat her down on the edge and immediately wrapped the blanket spread across it around her. “Better?” he asked quietly, and she just now noticed the concern in his eyes.

She was still shivering, but the blanket definitely helped, so she nodded. 

“Okay; I’ll go turn the heat on and see if I can’t find a few more.”

His mind was solely on her wellbeing, she could tell, especially with the way he paused only for a quick peck on her forehead before venturing off. But her? It was kind of hard to think about anything else while watching his (amazing, squeezable, ripe) bare ass walk away from her. That definitely helped warm her up.

Her wistful gaze followed him for a bit, but then she caught a glimpse of what sat on the end table: the portrait of Milah. The previous day’s revelations resurfaced in Emma’s mind, and the more she thought about it, she wasn’t at all surprised a woman like Milah (based on Killian’s description) would leave someone like Gold. And she certainly understood why she’d seek an escape with Killian. A number of questions arose about their relationship, in addition to the dozens that were piling up in general, but one was standing out. 

Killian returned, carrying a stack of blankets with another thrown over his shoulder (though still not covering anything important). He set them next to her and was wrapping one around her when she asked, “Do you think Milah would mind?”

A small, sad smile reached his mouth as he placed a blanket on her shoulders, but then he shook his head. “No; not at all. She knew it was a possibility, me someday finding my...soulmate,” he said on a breath. “Wow; that’s the first time I’ve said it,” he added, smiling shyly at her, then continued as he picked up another blanket. “I will admit, I never thought I’d be capable of letting go of my love for her, to believe that I could find someone else. That is…” he trailed off, pulling the blanket snugly around her and then taking a seat on the mattress next to her. Then he took a breath and finished. “Until I met you.”

There was an intensity in his blue gaze she hadn’t yet seen, and if the blankets weren’t already doing a good job of warming her, that alone would. Not in a sexual way—other things were doing that—but at the level of care and want and love in it. No one had ever looked at her like that, and she knew now that no one else ever would—which, for the first time, she was fine with, because she knew the same emotion was reflected in her eyes.

She was just starting to lean in to his lips, but then he blinked and looked down. “I don’t doubt what you said last night, and I know I spoke the truth as well; but, Emma, I don’t want you to feel forced into anything. Just because some cosmic energy has dictated that we were destined to find each other doesn’t mean I want you to feel like you have to be.”

Well, shit—if anything, that speech just made her fall in love even more. “Hey,” she said, reaching a hand out of her blanket cocoon and setting it on his thigh. “Before I found out everything, I had already made a decision. And I had chosen you,” she told him, emphasizing with a squeeze (which was also more than a little bit for her personal pleasure as well). He looked up, an almost surprised expression on his face. “I didn’t care about what was predetermined; I wanted you. But I guess fate knew what it was doing all along,” she added with a light chuckle. “So much for saying ‘fuck fate’ now.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he answered, a wicked smirk taking over his features. “I think fate might still be rather fuckable, if you desired it.”

Her responding giggle was quickly cut off with a searing kiss, and he slipped his hand inside the blankets to move closer. His palm was hot against her cool skin, but she didn’t jolt until it had slipped up her side to her mark. 

“Sorry,” he apologized breathlessly. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” she replied. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling by any stretch; it was an oddly exhilarating spark that traveled through her, and knowing he was the only one who could draw that reaction—and her from him, likely—added another level of thrill. (Part of her wished she’d known about that aspect of this whole soulmate thing when she’d been with Neal, because that had never happened when he touched her; it might have saved her some heartache. But she also knew it was just part of the path that led her to Killian.)

He grinned and kissed her again, then tipped his head toward her side. “May I?” 

She nodded, and he placed another soft peck on her cheek as he guided her to lay down on the bed. He placed more kisses down her collarbone as he slid the blanket off her shoulder to allow him access to her body, nosing his way toward her ribs. His thumb grazed her nipple as he guided her arm up to take a good look at her mark. 

He hovered over her studying it for longer than she'd expected, following the lines that made up the body, tail, and fin with his fingers, an inquisitive set to his brows the whole time. “Well, it doesn't have my chest hair,” he finally observed,  “but it does have my profile, so close enough.”

She giggled. “Glad it meets your expectations.” He was angled in a way that prevented her from seeing much of his mark where it was positioned almost on his side, so she tugged his shoulder until he was braced on both forearms above her. It was a little hard to make out in the faint sunlight coming through the cabin’s window, but low on his pec, just outside the perimeter of his chest hair, was the obvious shape of a swan. It was the same dark brown as hers, made of freckles that had come together and formed the lines of a swan’s body, wings, and neck. What was odd—or perfect, depending on how you looked at it—was the lighter-colored birthmark around the neck.

She brushed her fingers over it to make sure it wasn't some dirt or she wasn't just seeing things, but it didn't budge (and only managed to make him arch his back away from  her in a manner that was hardly innocent—but hopefully, they'd be getting to that soon.) “It even has the ring on my neck,” she breathed, astonished at just how detailed these marks were.

“The real thing is far more stunning, though,” Killian replied.

She blushed. “So are you. If I'd known my soulmate was so ridiculously good-looking, maybe I’d have looked for him sooner.”

“No, you wouldn't have.”

“Yeah, you're right; I found him at just the right time.”

He grinned at her, then lowered himself to kiss her for the umpteenth time—but it never got old. It was filled with just as much fire as the first and probably would be until the last, whatever far-off point that was. She didn’t want to think about that, or anything or anyone but him and this moment right now. 

His right hand found her waist as he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping between her lips, and her grip held his narrow hips, thumbs tracing the cut of his muscles low on his abdomen.

His hand continued up as he braced his weight on his left arm, skimming her skin and leaving sparks in his wake until he reached her mark again. Even the slightest brush of his touch against it drew a reaction, her spine arching in reaction to the jolt that ran through her. 

The move drew her just close enough to him to feel the brush of his erection low on her pelvis, not far from where she could feel her own arousal building. She relaxed back into the mattress, but decided fair was fair and drew her hand up toward his own mark. God, they even had them in almost the same spot; she didn’t know anyone else who could say that.

When she gripped his mark—taking care to brush his nipple at the same time—she drew a deep moan from him as he curved toward her, this time bringing his entire length in contact with her folds and sensitive clit. She gasped in turn, realizing she was farther gone than she’d thought.

“Em-ma,” he stammered, barely holding himself up above her. “Are you—can we—”

“Fuck yes,” she answered. He didn’t need to use words for her to figure out what he was asking; even though she could read him like her favorite book, it was obvious. “I need you in me, Killian.”

“As you wish, my love.”

He sat back on his haunches to take his length in hand and give it a few strokes—though he was plenty hard already. Then he shifted forward again, and she lifted her hips to help him find her entrance. She expected she’d need to find it for him—so many guys did—but before she could even offer, his tip was grazing her folds and then he slid in.

She breathed in deep and sighed as he filled her, and she realized what Snow had said was right: it felt like coming home. She hadn’t noticed just how perfectly they fit together the first time, but now, she was hyper aware of that fact as every inch of him brushed against her inner walls until he was completely sheathed. 

For a long moment, they both stayed there, reveling in the feeling of the other. When Emma finally dared to open her eyes, it was to the same intense, loving blue gaze she was getting used to seeing more and more often. 

He reached up with the back of his right hand to brush against her cheek; his fingers came back wet. She hadn't even realized she was crying until then; was there no end to this new sappiness?

“Emma, what is it?” He was smiling, despite the concerned question and the fact that she was, you know, crying.

“Nothing,” she assured him. “Nothing bad, at least. I’m just...happy. It’s still taking me by surprise.”

“Aye, love; me too.”

Wordlessly, she tugged his neck down to her to press their lips firmly together, picking back up where they’d just left off. Continuing on, she dragged her foot up the back of his muscled thigh and over the curve of his ass, making him move ever so slightly within her, until her heel was on his lower back, where she pressed just enough to bring him back in.

He didn’t need another hint, and so he started to move, pulling back and pushing forward languidly to slowly keep stoking the fire within. She had no words to describe how amazing he felt—she was too focused on enjoying just being with him and making sure she met him press for press.

Usually, she was impatient to get to the climax, especially when it was a one-night stand; but she never wanted this to stop. Even knowing she had a lifetime of this kind of connection ahead of her wasn’t enough. But she couldn’t hold back the building tension within, as much as she tried, even going so far as to try to slow him down.

“I want to,” he panted as she attempted to hold him in with another press of her heel. “But I—I can’t—”

“I know,” she breathed. “Jus’ wanted to try.”

“Next time,” he answered with a chuckle. “But now...may I?”

“Please,” she gasped.

He quickly increased his pace and she met his every thrust, the tension now coiling rapidly. 

“I’m—I’m—” she stammered.

“Come for me, my swan,” he commanded. “You beautiful creature.”

Instead of going for her clit, like most guys would, he gripped her side right over her soulmark. That was all she needed to find her release, arching her back again and shouting his name. If a normal orgasm was a sparkler running all through her body, this was like fireworks going off on the Fourth of July.

Blindly, she reached for him, trying to find an anchor as pleasure washed over her in waves. It felt like she found his mark, too, based on the coarse hair under her grip—and the resulting gasp from him as he stilled, shouted, and spilled inside her. 

Who knew those marks were erogenous zones, too?

Once he was spent, Killian collapsed alongside her, pausing just long enough to pull out before he did, and then pulled her into his arms. She could feel the mess begging to be cleaned up, but it could wait another minute as they basked in the afterglow.

“I love you,” she murmured, tucking her head into his shoulder and breathing him in—a bit saltier than usual, though she wasn’t sure if that was from the ocean or their present activities (both, probably). 

“You’re not just saying that because I gave you the best sex of your life, right?”

She lifted her head just enough to make sure he saw her wryly glaring at him.

He just laughed. “I love you, too, Emma, and I thank the stars for bringing me to you.”

“Me too.”

They both knew the world was waiting, but it could be a bit more patient. For now, all that mattered was right there in each other’s arms. 

And after cleaning up, they collapsed back on the bed, pulled the blankets up, and drifted back to sleep wrapped up together.

* * *

It was some time later when they finally woke up—to the growl of their stomachs.

“What time is it?” Emma mumbled, not wanting to open her eyes. Because that meant the day would start, and they’d have to leave this little cocoon of bliss they’d made in the last few hours.

“Time for breakfast, apparently,” he murmured back, sounding just as not-eager to get up as she was. But her stomach really was protesting, and her family was probably getting worried. She dramatically blinked her eyes open to see his staring back at her. “How do pancakes sound?” he offered.

“Mm, perfect,” she answered. “In, like, 5 minutes.”

“Okay,” he chuckled, and pulled her closer. 

When the 5 minutes were up, he didn’t force her out of bed; he just slipped out, placed a kiss on her forehead and promised that he’d be right back, then headed up the ladder to the deck. It sounded like he hopped over to the dock and then back to the ship, and he returned a moment later with their clothes in hand. “Didn’t think you’d want to go streaking in the cold,” he explained, “though I can’t say I’d complain if you did.”

She just laughed and finally forced herself to get out of bed, taking the bundle of her clothes from him and getting dressed in comfortable silence. They were cold and slightly damp from the dew overnight, but they’d make do until they got back in the house.

Arm in arm, they walked back up the dock (barefoot; she really didn’t feel like dealing with wet shoes) to the house, where he proceeded to wrap her in another blanket and set her on the couch while he went about prepping breakfast.

Her phone was sitting on the coffee table, so she picked it up, if only to let David know that she was alive. She wasn’t expecting the stream of notifications from Regina, starting with a missed call and then a subsequent chain of texts:

6:02 am   
_ Emma, call me back ASAP. _

6:43 am _   
_ _ Where the hell are you, Nolan? This is important! _

7:12 am _   
_ _ I swear to fuck, you better be banging this Killian fellow if you’re not answering. Call me when you get this so I know. _

She snorted at that last one; typical Regina. It was a little after 10; she’d kept her boss waiting long enough, so she shot off a text to David saying they were alright and would be coming over for dinner—because you didn’t share this kind of news over text—before dialing Regina.

“Freaking finally,” Regina answered. “Where have you been?”

“Good morning to you, too,” Emma replied. “And for your information, you guessed right in your last message.”

“Well, damn. I told you this trip would be good for you.”

“Yeah, it was,” she answered truthfully. “But what about you? What’s going on?”

“Oh, I just wanted to let you know how everything else went down with Gold. I assume you know that the Blue Fairy took him in?”

“Yeah, I was there for that, but then they just kind of...poofed away.”

She could hear Regina’s eyes roll over the phone. “Fairies tend to do that. Anyways, once Blue had him in custody, Zelena and I were able to break past all the magical barriers at his place and get inside. It was terrifying in there.”

Regina’s sister Zelena was technically a partner in their firm, but the two didn’t work together often—like most siblings, they tended to get at each other’s throats quickly. So if they had to work together on this, it was some serious magic.

“How bad?” Emma asked.

“You had every right to be scared for Killilan, and probably yourself, too—it was practically a circus sideshow. Centaurs in cages, a mermaid in a tank, the fairies behind glass like at the zoo. Just awful.”

Emma shuddered at the thought of either of them ending up there. “Sounds like. So what now?”

“Well, Z and I had to call in Merlin, because of course, each enclosure had its own magical protections.” Merlin was a local warlock who’d been named on a dare by his parents, but he was always available when they needed some extra magical help. “It took all night, but between the three of us, we managed to free everyone and send them on their way home. As for Gold, Blue assured me that he’d receive their harshest punishment and would likely be stripped of his powers, or placed in their magic jail or something. I’m still not entirely sure how the fairies work, but she said he’d never see freedom again, and I have no reason not to believe her.”

“Good,” Emma decided, just as Killian came in with two plates of pancakes and a bottle of syrup. “He deserves their worst after everything he’s done.” Killian silently asked her “Gold?”; she nodded.

Regina agreed. “So now we just need wrap up the files on all these cases; yours will be waiting for you when you get back. And now that that’s almost done,” she transitioned, “when are you going to tell me about this mysterious Killian?”

The phone volume was up loud enough for Killian to hear the question; he grinned, and she immediately blushed. “Oh, um, he’s, uh, well, he’s a merman, and, uh—”

“And he’s sitting right next to you?” Regina guessed, laughing. “You can tell me about him on Monday, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Enjoy the rest of your time off. Bone him once for me.”

“Oh my god; you’re as bad as Ruby sometimes.”

“I try. Later.”

Emma said goodbye and hung up at lightning speed, then looked over at Killian. “How much of that did you hear?”

“Apparently, we need to have sex in honor of your boss?”

She rolled her eyes. “Before that.”

“Not much, then.”

They dug into their breakfasts and she relayed all that Regina had told her about Gold.

“‘Bout damn time,” Killian concluded. “And wherever he goes, he won’t be moving fast—the poison will likely cripple him.”

“Poison? Is that what was on the harpoon?” she asked, thinking back to the inky substance on the weapon.

“Aye; same stuff he used on me,” he explained, holding up his scarred left hand. “Most supernatural creatures have enhanced healing powers, myself included. But that’s a diluted form of the dreamshade poison. In its pure form, it’ll kill you; but watered down like that, it just takes forever to heal and leaves quite the mark.”

“Oh, Killian,” she gushed, setting down her fork to grab his hand. “No wonder you were so terrified of it, and him.”

“I’m alright, love, and more importantly, so are you, and that reptile will never unleash his particular brand of horror on the anyone again. The heroes won; all's right with the world.”

She gave him a half smile, and pulled his hand to her lips to press a kiss on the back of it. But now she was wondering. “So, when you were telling me your tragic backstory...how much of that was true?”

He worried his lower lip. “Most of it, actually. Do you want to know the real one?”

“Of course I do,” she assured him, squeezing his hand.

He nodded. “I’m afraid it’s just as tragic, though.” As they ate, he told her the actual tale (tail?) of his life: he really did grow up on the coast of England, just in the sea rather than near it—but he’d always had a fascination with humans. His mother died of illness when he was young and his father disappeared sometime after; they never learned where and didn’t bother to find out. Liam did actually die in a boating accident—they’d gotten good at fending for themselves in the years after their father left, but while scrounging for food, they got a bit too close to the shipping lanes and the massive cargo boats that traveled them.

With Liam gone, Killian had no one left, and only the magic cuff his mother had left behind that granted the wearer legs for a day, as long as they returned to the water at some point within 24 hours. (“And as long as it doesn’t get wet, either.” “Is that why you were so worried about it on our first date?” “Aye, but as it turns out—which I believe you were there to see—it’s only saltwater that renders it ineffective until it dries back out.” “Yeah, that explains a lot.”) So, despite what happened, he ventured on land to find his way among people, and that’s when he met Milah in a tavern and was instantly smitten.

He’d been wary to keep his true nature a secret, but finally felt confident enough to reveal it to her. She recognized the swan on his skin as a soulmark, but was too in love to care. They had indeed made plans to run away—to sail to America on his ship—but then her husband got wind and intervened on the night they were to leave. He attacked Killian with a harpoon and crushed Milah’s heart right in front of him. 

“And so I bounced around the UK for a while before making my way to the States, to a tiny town where he couldn’t find me. Then a few months later, I met a dazzling swan, and the rest shall be history,” he concluded with a grin that didn’t fully reach his eyes.

Emma had to wipe the tears from her eyes, her pancakes long forgotten, and pulled him into a hug. “God, Killian—you’ve been through so much; you poor—”

“None of that, love,” he cut her off. “I’ve done the wallowing thing enough for both of us; there’s no need for more.” He kissed her temple and then pulled back. “And now I’d like to know: how did you find your swan feathers? I’d love to learn more about your beginnings.”

She gave half a smile back. “You already know most of it, really,” she started, then launched her own story while moving what was left of her pancakes around in the syrup that covered her plate. 

Skimming over her early start, which he already knew, she told him about her first transition and everything she knew about her Odette thing—which admittedly wasn’t much, but she at least got by. In the process, she kind of had to reveal David and Snow’s extra abilities, so she just went ahead and filled him in on Storybrooke as a whole.

“So, when I said ‘the wolves know me’...they kind of know you, too,” she finished explaining.

“Wow,” was all he said, and she could tell from his wide-eyed look that he was processing all that. “That does explain a few things.”

“It does?”

“Aye. The first time I walked into Granny’s, she started sniffing the air and gave me a rather assessing once-over.” He grinned. “She must have thought I was the catch of the day.”

Oh, that nerd; she couldn’t help but laugh. “Eh, they tend to prefer red meat, so I think you’re safe.”

“Thank goodness.” They giggled and shared a kiss, but then he continued. “Seriously, though—something just felt right here. Few places on land have ever really felt like home, but as soon as I docked, it was like I was right where I was meant to be. And now I know why,” he said, placing another kiss on the side of her head as he pulled her close. 

She sighed and leaned into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder. If she was being honest, she could identify with that feeling; she couldn’t believe she’d fought Regina on coming here, because now, she couldn’t imagine her life if she hadn’t. “I think I know that feel.”

For a long while, they just cuddled and chatted, asking each other questions about everything. 

“Does it hurt when you transform?” he wondered. 

“It used to, but not in a long time; it’s more weird than anything. What about you?”

“About the same. It took me far too long to figure legs out; I walked like Jack Sparrow the first couple weeks.”

She laughed at the mental image that created—it was kind of adorable. “Wait—where did you even get your pop culture knowledge?”

“Milah, mostly. And books.”

“Is that how you became a librarian?”

“It’s why, but as far as how, I did that the old-fashioned way: got my degree.”

“Seriously?”

“You think Belle would have hired me without an MLIS?”

“No; you’re right.” She mused for a moment, then went ahead and asked some things she’d been wondering since everything began here. “So, how much do the fairytales get right about merpeople?”

He chuckled, a low thing that she could feel rumbling in his chest against hers. “Bits and pieces. Depends on who you listen to.”

“How about...Hans Christian Andersen?”

“Ah, had to start with the hard one, didn’t you?”

She turned her head to look up at him as best she could. “Really?”

“That one is just as much a legend to us, though meant to be more a cautionary tale against humans; but, clearly, some of us don’t listen.”

“So Ariel isn’t real?”

“Not that I’ve encountered.”

“What about those mermen who start rap battles you once mentioned?”

He snorted. “Yeah, they are—the Blue Men of the Minch. My cousin is one.”

“And sirens?”

“Yes, though that’s more of a career than another species.”

“Oh my gosh, does that mean you can sing?”

He sounded terribly amused. “You’ve clearly been thinking about this for a while.”

She shrugged. “Only most of my life.”

He laughed a bit and pulled her impossibly closer. She was about to ask another question, but was interrupted by the sweetest sound she’d ever heard.

“ _ What would I give to live where you are? What would I pay to stay here beside you? _ ”

Her jaw dropped. That answered her question: he could definitely sing.

She had to sit up to stare at him as he continued in his sweet tenor voice. “ _ What would I do to see you smiling at me? _ ” She had to grin at that.

“ _ Where would we walk?  _ __   
_ Where would we run  _ _   
_ __ If we could stay all day in the sun?

_ Just you and me  _ __   
_ And I could be  _ _   
_ __ Part of your world .”

How else was she supposed to follow that up but with a passionate kiss? Screw part of it—right now, he was her entire world, and while the rational part of her knew that wasn’t healthy or whatever, her heart didn’t really care at the moment. And neither did other parts of her as she moved to straddle his lap.

When they finally broke apart for air, foreheads resting against each other, she panted out, “You knew I was onto you, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I can’t lie—it’s part of why I invited you over, to try to throw you off my tail.”

“Literally,” she added, giggling. “Sorry your plan didn’t work.”

“Well, that was only part of it. The other part was an excuse to spend time with you. That one was successful.”

“Definitely.” She slightly rotated her hips into his for emphasis, brushing his growing erection and making him breathe in sharply. “One more question, though: did you give me the romance novel for a reason? Like a test?”

“Maybe. Did you like it?” he countered.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Good.” He reclaimed her lips with his as his hands began to roam, and quickly they were back where they were earlier, but this time leaving their clothes strewn around his cottage as they worked their way to the bed upstairs. While certainly more plush than the foldout on the ship, Emma found it did lack some of that ‘motion in the ocean’ (a term she now understood). 

So, to make up for it, they headed to the shower, too.

And each time still had that odd sense of deja vu—like she’d been there before and knew the way he’d feel under, on top of, inside her, even though she could count on one hand the number of times they’d been that kind of intimate. But at the same time, each encounter was just as thrilling as the first. It was throwing her for the best kind of loop, and the fact that it would always be like that filled her with immeasurable glee just as perfectly as his cock fit in her.

She’d apologize for being crude, but it was really all she could think about as they were coming down from their shared high, still dripping wet from the shower and wrapped together in one of Killian’s plush, oversized towels. The air in the small space between them was just as humid and thick as it had been on the other side of the curtain, but they knew they had to venture out into the world at some point; still, it could wait just a few minutes more.

While they continued to breathe each other in—Emma was definitely a fan of the body wash he used—Killian reached up to toy with the ring-shaped pendant at Emma’s neck. (She tried to take it off before the shower, but he recognized what it meant without her having to tell him and he insisted it stay.)

“Have you ever been to Swans Island?” he asked, voice low and still rough from their previous activities.

“Once, when I was 14. But we couldn’t really find anything—just police records—and it was a pain in the ass to get to.”

He hummed in thought. “I’m taking you, then. We can sail there and see what there is next time you’re here.”

“I’d like that.” But then the weight of the last part of his statement settled over them—“next time.” They had less than 24 hours until she had to get back to Boston. And she was in no way read to go. “Killian, what are we gonna do?”

He sighed heavily. “What do you want to do?”

“Stay in your arms and never leave,” she stated matter-of-factly.

He smiled and kissed her forehead. “As much as I would love that, I’m afraid the real world might come down on us at some point.”

“Can’t we just swim away together? Screw everything else. I just found you; I don’t want to let go just yet.”

“I’m not going anywhere, love—I promise you. I’ll be wherever you need me to be.”

She scoffed. “I wasn’t lying when I said you’d hate Boston.”

“I’d do it for you.”

“I know you would. But Belle would kill you.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“And then I’d have to kill her and it would probably spiral out from there. I’m not made for jail.”

Chuckling, he told her, “You’re a tough lass; you’d be fine.”

“It doesn’t matter because that’s not an option!” She lightly hit his chest for emphasis.

He caught her hand and then pulled it to his lips, brushing them against it. “I don’t like the thought any more than you do, but perhaps we have to try the long distance thing for a bit? “

She huffed. “I guess we have to.”

“There are worse things, darling.” She nodded; he was right—it was entirely childish of her to be acting like this, given his history. “We’ll just have to start there until we can figure something else out.”

“Until we quit our jobs and swim away?”

“Aye,” he laughed. “‘Til then.”

“Okay.”

* * *

Arriving back at the Nolan house in the clothes she’d left in the previous day was not a new experience for Emma, but it had definitely been a while. So she dashed up to her room as soon as they got there to change while Killian, eternally the gentleman, helped with dinner.

David and Snow shared a simultaneous jaw drop at the carefree smooch Emma and Killian exchanged when she came back downstairs, but didn’t say anything—not at first.

“Uh, is there anything I should know, Emma?” Snow wondered as they set the table. For Killian’s sake, she was glad David wasn’t so bold.

“Yeah, there probably is,” Emma tossed back.

“And?”

“You’ll see.”

“You can’t do that to me, Emma!” she protested as Emma headed back into the kitchen, giggling, to grab glasses.

Dinner went as smooth as it possibly could with Snow and David doing their best not to pry but clearly on the edge of their seats, wondering what the hell had happened in the last 24 hours to take these two from dancing around each other to the easy affection they were displaying now. Emma figured Snow had told David about Killian, but now she was wondering if maybe she hadn’t.

After dinner, it was nice enough to sit out on the porch and chat and drink as they watched the stars come out over the farm. In some ways, it felt like something the four of them had always been doing; was it possible to have couple soulmates, too? Friend soulmates? Emma wasn’t sure, but there was something so natural about it and she wanted that to be preserved forever, just as much as her relationship (true love!) with Killian.

But as 11 pm drew closer, David got fidgety and kept throwing sidelong glances towards Emma, who was making no move to send Killian on his way. He even went so far as to yawn dramatically and look at his watch. But they had a plan.

Finally, Emma’s phone went off. “Is it that time already?” Killian asked, feigning innocence.

“Looks like. Shall we?” She offered him her hand and they stood up together, then started to head down off the porch, but paused. Turning back, she saw the other two watching them with completely confused expressions. “Well, are you coming?”

Snow’s eyes grew wide with recognition, but David continued to be concerned. Regardless, they both hopped up and followed them down the well-worn path through the yard to the pond. 

The sliver of moon barely gave any light, but between that and the floodlight on the barn, it was enough to see by. They reached the end of the dock and stopped, facing each other, and then threw a smirk back towards the others. Snow was grinning; David’s brows were furrowed.

She looked back up at Killian and he nodded, so her hands went to the top button on his shirt and undid it, then continued down the row.

“What the hell, guys!” David shouted, and she looked back over to see him covering his eyes. “I don’t want to see...whatever this is!”

Snow was practically vibrating. “I do!”

David chastised her, but Emma just chuckled and continued on until Killian’s shirt was open, revealing his chest—and everything on it. “You can look now,” Emma yelled at David as Killian turned to face them.

Despite the dark, his soulmark still stood out in contrast to his skin and they couldn’t question its shape at all. 

Predictably, Snow started screaming and ran to hug them both at the same time; but David, ever dense, took another moment to soak it in.

“Wait—what?” he stammered, staring at his hysterical wife.

“They’re soulmates, David!” Snow shouted while asphyxiating them.

“I saw the swan, but Emma’s mark is a—”

“Yes! It is! Ahh!” 

Before Snow had a chance to further rupture their ear drums, Emma felt her change approaching rapidly and had to extract herself from the embrace and quickly strip. In a true sign of how shocked he was, David didn’t avert his eyes until Emma’s shirt was off.

When he heard the familiar splash of Emma landing in the water, he finally opened them—to see his sister’s swan form and his friend sporting a long, gorgeous tail. “You...you’re a…”

“Aye, mate,” Killian answered. 

It seemed to take forever for it to soak in and Emma could tell Killian was itching to get in the water by the almost annoyed twitch of his tail. But finally, David shook his head, glanced between the two of them, and finally settled on Killian—surprisingly looking irate. “What the hell, man?” he shouted and punched Killian in the shoulder. “You’re my sister’s soulmate and you didn’t even tell me? I thought we were best friends!”

“That’s the part you’re upset over?” Emma shouted at him from the water. “Really?”

“I...uh...yeah?”

“Sorry?” Killian apologized.

He looked angry for another long moment, until a grin split out over David’s face. “Don’t worry; you’re already forgiven. But you still need my permission to marry her.”

Emma and Snow both protested, but it fell on deaf ears as Dave continued to fawn over Killian’s revelation. Emma paddled back over toward Snow as they watched them, and she was chuckling to herself watching David pet Killian’s tail when a hand settled on her back to do the same. 

“I’m so happy for you, Emma,” Snow said quietly; if Emma wasn’t mistaken, tears were brimming in her eyes. 

Which in turn made her glad that swans couldn’t cry, because oh Lord, the watery way she answered “Me too” had nothing to do with the setting and everything to do with the way that incredible merman was staring at her like she’d flown all the stars into the sky herself. 

“When do I get to start planning the wedding?” Snow whispered back, earning a hysterical honk from Emma and making the guys jump. 

“You mean you weren’t already?” Emma threw back.

“...Caught me.”

Another splash sounded then, and Emma looked over in time to see Killian’s fin disappear into the pond, then his head pop up in front of her a moment later. “Hello, ladies. Hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Nope. I was just about to take David back in,” Snow answered. 

David complained “You were?” as she walked over and took him by the hand. 

“I love your tail, Killian! It suits you,” she shouted over her shoulder, leading her husband away.

“Thank you, milady!”

The sound of the bickering Nolans persisted—“But Killian—” David protested, to which Snow scolded “—Would like to spend some time with his true love; you can play together tomorrow”—and Emma and Killian had a hard time containing their laughter at his reaction.

“That did go better than I thought would,” Killian said, stroking the feathers of her wing.

“Were you really that worried?”

“A day ago, I would have been—you saw how I was last night—but it was lessened a bit after everything you told me today. Though I suppose I have less cause for caution than you do.”

“Well, as far as I’m concerned, everyone who needs to know does now. Although, fair warning, Ruby’s probably going to want to see it, too.”

“I figured as much. As long as she plays fair; I’ve never seen a werewolf.”

For a long while, they floated and chatted, and Emma showed him around the pond she had spent so many days and nights in, in both forms—it was almost like revealing another part of herself. (He had to admit that such a small body of water was “a wee bit claustrophobic, given what I’m used to,” but thought it had its charms regardless.) And they eventually drifted off to sleep again, huddled close.

* * *

The morning found them splashing in the shallow waters in a race to get back to the dock and dry clothes—a race Killian easily won—and then, finally, she got to streak in front of him. She’d been right in her thought that he wouldn’t complain, and she certainly wasn’t either. 

And then, once back in her room, they may have engaged in a bit of payback for all the times Emma had to hear Snow and David getting it on.

Eventually, they had breakfast with the other two; and they wandered into town at some point to grab a late lunch and give Ruby the news (who was somehow even louder than Snow; wolf lungs, probably). 

And they had sex no less than four more times at various spots around town, including the back room at the diner where Emma had to retrieve her discarded outfit from two days prior. Granny shook her head and laughed at them when they came out, obviously noting that their scents were all mixed up, but she at least held back on the scolding as she gave Emma a bag of bearclaws for the road. 

Back at Killian’s, he gave her some leftovers, the recipe she wanted, and one of his shirts “to keep you company,” he explained with a soft but sad smile. She took a deep inhale of the cotton; it did smell just like him. But if she still had the real thing in front of her, she was going to take advantage of that and take him one more time on his bed, for good measure.

Once they were decent again, he drove her back to the farm to get her things and load them into her car. It was pretty typical for Snow to get teary on Emma’s departure (and also load her up with some food for the trip), and David always held onto their hugs a bit too long.

But then she moved to Killian, who was waiting by the car door (which he had opened, of course). And now Emma was the one with the waterworks. How the hell was she supposed to leave him here and just go back to life in Boston, knowing her literal soulmate was hours away?

“I’m not a tearful goodbye kiss person,” she started, gripping his lapels as she stood in his embrace. She was staring at the whorls of chest hair peeking out of his shirt because she wasn’t sure she could face the emotion in his eyes, but she finally dared to peek up; the blue of his irises stood in stark contrast to the slight red caused by his own tears. “But maybe just this once.”

She rose on her tiptoes to meet his lips, trying to place all the emotion she could into one last kiss, hoping it would last him until they saw each other again; but she knew it could never be enough—not for her, at least.

They reluctantly broke apart for air and exchanged almost silent “I love you”s with their faces buried in the other’s shoulder. The hardest thing she could remember doing was letting go of him and slipping into the driver’s seat, but she had to leave soon if she wanted to be home by dark. 

He shut the door behind her as she buckled up, but then leaned his head in through the open window. “This is quite the vessel you captain, love,” he told her, nodding at the Bug. “Drive safe, Emma, and know that not a moment will go by I don’t think of you.”

“Same,” she answered, voice still watery, and they exchanged one last kiss before he stepped away and she started the car.

The rumble of the old engine sounded menacing today—a sharp contrast to its usual comfort and reliability. So many times, she couldn’t wait to get out of sleepy Storybrooke and back to the real world; but now? Screw the rest of the world—all she wanted was right here. 

And she still had a pretty fat check coming her way, too; didn’t that count for anything? But she knew all that would buy was a few months’ worth of bills and data overages (which she’d surely have after two weeks in a town that was still adding “free WiFi” to its vocabulary). And there was still a mess to help Regina clean up. 

At least she also knew she could spend it on all the gas and car maintenance she’d be racking up driving between here and Boston. 

So, sadly, she shifted the car into drive and slowly let it start to coast down the driveway, one hand on the wheel and the other propping her up as she half-leaned out the window, unable to take her eyes off the incredible man who had easily slipped through the cracks in her walls like he’d been born to do it—which, she guessed, he was.

Even once she had to sit properly in the seat and turn out onto the main road, her eyes sought Killian’s until the trees that lined the dirt road got in the way, and she finally had to hit the gas and start her journey home.

Except it wasn’t anymore, was it? No offense to her brother and sister-in-law, but for the first time in ages, Storybrooke had reclaimed that mantle. 

And as the thick forest gave way back to coastal views as she hit the highway, she started counting down the days until she could come back to the man who loved her just as she was—her literal, actual, designated-by-the-deities soulmate.

Maybe those gods or fates or whatever that she still wasn’t sure existed actually did know what they were doing.

* * *

It wasn’t exactly happily ever after just yet, though. That’s how all the stories with true love ended, right? Apparently, they still had a ways to go.

They did the long-distance thing far longer than either of them would have liked, but Emma thanked the stars above for Facetime—something she took advantage of almost as soon as she’d unlocked the door to her apartment, which had never felt more empty.

She was greeted at the office the next day with a stack of paperwork and a bottle of wine from Regina, over which Emma caught her up on all the details of her personal life. 

“Well, shit—maybe I should head back, too, to see if there are any more sexy newcomers,” Regina decided, draining her glass. The arrow on her inner wrist was hard to cover up, but it was rare that she ever drew attention to it. Now, though, Emma had to resist the newfound urge to start giving a Snow-esque hope speech as she watched Regina trace the mark with a finger.

This had really been a crazy few weeks if that was her train of thought.

As soon and often as she was able, she made the trek up the coast to see Killian, even if it was only for 24 hours. It wasn’t like she could ever forget the way he felt, touched, or kissed, but the real thing was just so much better than her imagination and memories—every trip was worth it just to be in his arms (or some cheesy shit like that; she hated sounding like a sappy romance novel but she really couldn’t help it if that was the way her life was going).

On one of her longer trips there, he kept good on his promise to take her to Swans Island. It took an hour or so to sail there and another to find the tiny museum that she’d discovered through an Internet search. To her surprise, there was something in there about the island legends of a race of shapeshifters, descendants of the Celtic swans, but to the museum curator’s knowledge, it was just fiction—though it was believed that the swans on the island descended from them. 

They stayed the night on his ship and Emma headed out into the harbor after she shifted, her curiosity being too much to bear. 

A bevy of swans were gathered on the far end towards the shore, but as she swam closer, nerves built—what if that really was her family? If those were indeed the people who abandoned her? What would she say? Or worse, what if they weren’t and she was just some freak of nature?

And that was when she realized she didn’t need any of this to tell her who she was, so she flew back to where Killian was floating in the water alongside his boat. 

“Well?” he greeted, clearly interested.

“I didn’t try to talk to them,” she admitted, “because something just hit me.”

“And what’s that?”

“It doesn’t matter where or who I come from; not when I already have people who love me just as I am. Screw them; my family is you guys.”

He didn’t answer verbally; just pulled her close and pressed a kiss to the side of her feathered head—something he’d started doing while she was in swan form that never ceased to make her heart flutter like a girl with a middle school crush.

* * *

He did make the journey to Boston a few times, but as predicted, he hated it.

“How can you deal with this, Emma? It’s so dirty, and there’s nowhere to spread your wings. It’s stifling.”

The one time he went swimming in the harbor, he came up gagging and complained about polluted water and that the tea that had once been so poorly abused was now long gone. However, he did have to admit that the library was “breathtaking.”

“But not so gorgeous as you, my love,” he whispered before kissing her in a secluded corner.

* * *

Ruby and Dorothy’s wedding was that fall—the red leaves perfectly matching the streaks in Ruby’s hair and the color of Dorothy’s shoes—and shortly after, Storybrooke’s longtime sheriff retired, meaning there was a job opening in town.

Graham, who had been the deputy and was now taking over as head of the department—as well as was a member of Ruby’s pack, they’d discovered in the years since high school—offered the position to Emma first. “Come on, Em; you’d be perfect—and you’d be able to move back, which I know you want to,” he said when he called her. “And I promise you wouldn’t be scheduled at night; Victor the Vampire has that covered.” (Yes, his name was Victor, he really was a vampire, and he’d worked the night shift at the station as long as anyone could remember—yet somehow, none of the Muggles asked questions as to why he never aged.)

Oddly enough, she told Regina about the offer first, not wanting to leave her boss high and dry without her best investigator, or get Killian’s hopes up. “Actually,” Regina replied after Emma laid it out, “I’ve been thinking about making a career change myself. Boston is just so...loud.”

Emma smirked. “This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with a certain forest ranger recently stationed in Storybrooke, would it?”

Regina just blushed. She’d met Robin when they went home for Ruby’s wedding, and the two had hit it off immediately. 

“Well, yes, actually. Did you know that he has a special ability?”

“No, I did not. What is it?”

“He has perfect aim...especially with an arrow,” she explained, brushing the mark on her wrist.

Emma bit her tongue at the potential for innuendo and instead gasped, screamed, and hugged her boss.

“Oh my god, you didn’t have to go all Snow about it.” 

“Yes, I did. Now you have a practice run for whenever you see her next.”

* * *

And that was that. Regina sold her side of the business to Zelena and they both moved home, Emma settling quite comfortably into Killian’s cottage and into the kind of domestic bliss she never thought was possible.

He was completely cheesy the day she arrived with all her belongings, going so far as to carry her over the threshold—and then continuing on upstairs before she had anything resembling a chance to unpack.

They worked during the day, met up for lunch, made sweet sweet love in the evenings, and then spent their nights in the water while it was still warm enough. Come winter, she introduced him to saltwater baths and was eternally grateful his bathtub was on the large side.

He proposed to her at Granny’s during lunch one day about a year after they’d first met, the last of the winter snow still on the ground outside. The small diamond was nestled in her stack of onion rings and nothing had ever been more perfect.

Snow planned the perfect summer wedding, of course—a small affair at the farm, just them and their closest loved ones on the night of the new moon (something about new beginnings and all that; having it on the night of the full moon had been discussed, so Emma could properly enjoy her wedding night, but they wanted to celebrate their love just as they were, and it wouldn’t truly be a party without Ruby and Granny there).

They said their vows under a canopy of starlight, both artificial and real, with Cygnus shining overhead. Killian wore dark blue and silver, appropriately—slacks, vest, and a shirt, and even found a scale-patterned tie; Emma’s dress had a glorious feathered skirt that was really not her style but completely perfect. 

Literal fireworks went off when they kissed; despite working for the state government, Robin had a healthy rebellious streak that he indulged every so often and apparently their wedding was reason enough to challenge the laws regarding pyrotechnics. But she was off-duty so she’d let it slide, and was really too busy kissing her new husband to care. 

The party ran late, as could only be expected with that crowd, not even stopping when 11 rolled around and the newlyweds made a mad dash to the pond, leaving their clothes in their wake. Hell, everyone cheered when they jumped in and splashed enthusiastically for show.

Killian popped up from under the surface and brushed his hair from his face before setting his eyes on her. “Excuse me, but have you seen my wife around here?” he called out, trying (and failing) to remain serious. 

“Hmm, I’m not sure,” she answered, feigning innocence. “What’s she like?”

“Oh, she’s brilliant,” he started, swimming toward her. “She’s stunning and fierce; beautiful and bold. Absolutely incredible; she’s even saved my life. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“She sounds pretty amazing,” Emma replied when he paused in front of him. “But I don’t think I’ve seen anyone like that come by.”

“Are you sure? She goes by the name Emma,” he added, pushing himself even more into her space. “Oh, and: she’s a swan.”

If she had lips, she’d have been grinning. But, since she didn’t, she could quip back, “What kind of weirdo marries a swan?”

“The kind who is completely in love with her, feathers or no, because she’s his soulmate—and she’ll never have to doubt that love as long as I live,” he answered, quashing all those old fears that sometimes flared up as he pulled her into his arms and then placed a kiss atop her head. 

“You know, swans mate for life,” she said, calling back to one of their conversations on his dock that felt like ages ago. 

“Is that so?”

“Mhmm,” she confirmed. “I guess yours finally found the right one.”

“And I’m so glad she did,” he answered, nuzzling his forehead against hers. “I love you, Emma.”

“I love you, too, soulmate.”

Finally, they were embarking on their happy ending—though, really, it felt more like a happy beginning.

She still wasn’t sure how much she believed in things like religion wishing on stars, but considering how wrong she’d been proven on soulmates, who was she to say what was or wasn’t possible? 

And as she floated there in her true love’s arms, she couldn’t wait to explore all those possibilities with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for sticking with this story! I'd be nowhere without you awesome readers :D


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